


Vanishing Point

by undyingflower



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, F/M, Organized Crime, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8791498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undyingflower/pseuds/undyingflower
Summary: Jon knew that he was not a hero. Killing bad people didn't make him a hero.The Targaryen family's primary objective was to take out organized crime families, but that didn't mean they were better than them. In the end they all had blood on their hands.[Jon/Sansa, Modern AU]





	1. Dracarys

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear readers!  
> I'm so excited about this story! I hope you like it!

* * *

 

 _I desired dragons with a profound desire_ ― C.S. Lewis

 

* * *

 

He looked around the room and started to analyze the people around him, searching for anything unusual.

A blonde woman rose from her chair and walked towards the restroom. She glanced at him and offered him a mischievous smile. He looked away and pretended to read the bar menu he was holding in his hands.

His eyes scanned over the tables, trying to recognize some face from the files his brother gave him. The people he was hunting looked harmless during the day. They preferred to show their true selves in the night. They worked in the shadows – like him.

He had been stuck in his hotel room for an entire week, memorizing every information of the Frey family file.

The first plan was to make a quick work of Walder Frey and his men but when Dany and Rhaenys invaded the man's house and found a woman locked in a room, the plan immediately changed. The woman had bruises all over her body and looked terrified. They already knew that Walder Frey was a dangerous man but they didn't know he was also an abusive man.

They decided to focus their attention on the Frey family. After months of research Dany found out that the Freys were also involved in human trafficking.

Very few things disturbed Daenerys Targaryen. She could watch a man bleed to death without even flinching but knowing that Walder Frey was responsible for human trafficking made her feel angrier than ever. He and his men needed to die.

Jon noticed that only a few tables were occupied.

He saw a middle aged woman reading a book. Her bored and disinterested facial expression made him wonder what kind of book she was reading.

A few tables away he could see an old couple chatting. The man was drinking a cocktail and the woman was eating an Italian Salad. Just two normal people enjoying their staying in one of the best hotels in the island. The man held the woman's hand and she smiled.

Jon was watching the couple interacting when a voice caught his attention.

"… I know, mum, but my flight is just tomorrow morning…"

He turned his head and spotted a beautiful girl sat near the bar counter, talking on the phone.

He was stunned by her beauty.

Her auburn hair was in a long braid that draped elegantly over her shoulder. Contrary to most people in the hotel she wasn't wearing any jewels. She was wearing olive green shorts paired with a delicate white top. She had porcelain skin and amazing long legs.

_Amazing long legs_

He shook his head.

Perturbed with his thoughts he tried to survey the perimeter of the room but his eyes refused to obey him.

The girl – the woman – was still talking on the phone.

Jon looked at her lips and noticed that she was chewing a pen.

 _No, not a pen, a pencil_  – he corrected himself.

She put the phone in her leather saddlebag and focused on the paper sheets scattered on the counter. There was also a plate with two small lemon cakes next to a pencil case.

Jon watched her taking the pencil out of her mouth and grabbing one of the papers. She looked at it for a few seconds and frowned. That action made Jon smile.

The woman bit her lower lip and lay the paper down, then she opened her sketchbook.

He got lost in her movements, watching her hand work the pencil on the sketch paper. He watched her features soften and the tension disappear from her brow.

Minutes later she finished eating her last lemon cake and rose from her chair.

As she made her way towards the door, Jon noticed that one of her drawings fell to the floor.

Without thinking twice he rose from his chair and picked the paper off the floor. His eyes widened as soon as he saw the sketch. It was the sketch of a dragon flying towards the horizon.

She was a very talented artist.

He took his eye off of the sketch and looked at the bar entrance. He quickly spotted her.

Jon hurried forward.

"I think this belongs to you" – the words stumbled out of his mouth, practically on their own.

The woman turned her body and he was suddenly out of breath. She had the most beautiful blue eyes he'd ever seen. Deep, royal blue eyes.

She looked fairly confused at first, but then realization dawned in her eyes when she looked at his hand. He handed her the sketch and she smiled shyly.

"Thanks" – she said, meeting his eyes again.

"You're very talented" – the words continued to stumble awkwardly out of his mouth.

"Not really, I just like to draw, that's all" – she said, tucking the drawing safely into her sketchbook – "Thanks again" – she added, before leaving the bar.

 

* * *

 

Jon entered in his room and moved to his laptop, deleting all the files and the browser history.

The room was adorned with golden window shades, silken duvets and furniture that was entirely handmade. It was a five stars hotel. Guests could also enjoy a museum-worthy art collection and for a few seconds Jon considered it but then he changed his mind. He needed to focus on the plan. He couldn't let himself get distracted by bronze sculptures and the possibility of seeing a certain red-haired person. Nothing could go wrong. The hotel guests couldn't be collateral damage.

Walder Frey and his men would be arriving at any minute. Jon already knew that they were going to stay in the fifth floor, second hallway. He had already planted the bombs in the rooms and in the rest of the hotel.

There were cameras everywhere but most men in the hotel uniforms were not actual hotel employees; they were Targaryen employees.

Exploding buildings was not exactly Jon's  _modus operandi_  but he didn't have time to prepare a slow and painful death. Daenerys was the one who liked to explode things but she was in Russia, dealing with the Bratva. Her sharp tongue and her blonde hair allowed her to blend in.

He had to act quickly before more children and women were sold and forced to be slaves.

Jon had come up with the best plan he could.

There was going to be a small jazz concert near the hotel pool at 10pm. All guests would be there. Walder Frey had reserved the fifth floor. He had planned to meet with a drug dealer there, so he and his men would remain in their rooms.

After making sure that no hotel guest were inside the building, Jon would activate the bombs and Walder Frey would cease to exist.

Minutes later firemen and cops would start appearing. Jon would have to drive to Undercliff and stay hidden in the woods. Then he would walk to Woody Bay and wait for the helicopter.

 

* * *

 

Sansa drank her orange juice and looked over at the stage where the band was playing a jazz song written by Gerald Marks and Seymour Simons:  _All of Me._ It was a popular song, she remembered hearing versions of that song performed by Ruth Etting, Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald.

The Isle of Wight was the perfect place to enjoy some peace, quiet and natural beauty. The island was also known for its world-famous sailing and lovely resorts but Sansa wasn't there for any of that. She was there because she needed to get away from Riverrun. Her birthday was in a month and her mother was already planning a big party.

She didn't want a party, much less a party with two hundred people. She tried to explain that to her mother but she ignored her.

Her mother was the CEO of Wolf Industries. She was friend of a lot of important families in Liverpool and most of those families worked in the company, which meant that the Bolton family would be invited to the party.

She shivered and tried to focus her attention on the old couple sat next to her table but  _his_  face refused to disappear from her mind.

She finished her drink and grabbed her leather saddlebag. She needed to draw. Drawing always calmed her.

She quickly realized that her sketchbook was not in the saddlebag. She let out a heavy breath and rose from her chair, the song coming to an end.

_You took the part that once was my heart. So why not take all of me._

 

* * *

 

 Jon was hidden behind a tree, looking at the hotel entrance. He grabbed his burner phone and dialed the number.

"We checked all the rooms. The hotel is empty. All employees and guests are out of the building" – a man said – "Only Walder Frey and his men are inside"

He hung up and grabbed the C4 remote detonator.

All he had to do now was to trigger the button and wait fifteen seconds. After those fifteen seconds the bombs would explode and Walder Frey would disappear from this world.

"Dracarys" – Jon said, triggering the button.

He took his eyes off of the remote detonator and looked at the hotel. He just had to wait fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds and then one of the most hideous men on the planet would cease to exist.

He was mentally counting seconds when a woman running towards the hotel entrance caught his attention.

His heart stopped as soon as he watched her disappear from his view.

It was the woman from the bar. The woman kissed by fire.

His feet started moving and he could hear his father's voice echoing in his head:  _You can't save everyone. There will always be collateral damage._

Jon knew that he was not a hero. Killing bad people didn't make him a hero. He was a criminal. He killed people. He tortured people. He was not a knight in shining armor. He was dark.

The Targaryens were a shadow organization. Their primary objective was to take out organized crime families but in order to do that, they had also to do illegal things: moving drug shipments, laundering money and many other things. They hadn't grew greedy and corrupt like the Freys, the Starks/Tullys, the Boltons and many other families, but that didn't mean that they were better than them. In the end they all had blood on their hands. Innocent people died during their missions. Despite Jon's best efforts no plan was perfect.

He ran towards the hotel as fast as he could. The family words kept following him:  _Fire and Blood._

The Targaryens only risked their lives for one thing: family.

 _There's us and there's everyone else_ – Aegon used to tell him every time people (innocent people) were caught in the crossfire –  _We can't risk the whole operation. You know the family words._

Jon knew all of that … but he didn't stop running.

 

* * *

 

 The first thing Sansa noticed when she stepped in the hotel was how quiet it was. There was no one in the lobby.

 _Strange_  – she thought, tightly gripping her shoulder bag.

She was walking towards the elevator when the peaceful silence was suddenly replaced by the sound of an explosion.

Sansa's body was jerked forward by the impact and her head hit the wall in front of her. Her vision became blurred and she fell heavily to the ground. Smoke invaded her nose and lungs. Her eyes burned from the searing ashes. She held her breath but choked on the smoke.

Her brain started to show her images of her family.

She could see her mother brushing her hair.

She remembered Robb and his warm smile. He used to bring her a present every time he returned home from his trips.

She saw Arya taunting her into a horserace. Her sister loved to ride.

She saw Bran sat in the middle of the library, reading a book, and Rickon playing in the garden.

The image of her father appeared right in front of her eyes, making her smile. She wished she could turn back time and be a little girl again.

He used to kiss her brow and tell her bedtime stories – stories about wolves.

" _Why must all the stories be about wolves?" – she asked one night – "Why can't they be about dragons?"_

" _I thought you liked wolves, sweetheart" – her father said, pulling the sheet up to cover her body._

" _I do" – she said – "But you could tell me another story … about dragons"_

" _I don't know any stories about dragons" – he said, after a few seconds of silence – "Do you know any stories about dragons?"_

" _No, but I know they have claws"_

" _So do wolves" – her father retorted._

" _And they have fangs" – she insisted._

" _Wolves have fangs too" – he said and she frowned._

_She thought about that for a long time, her eyes squinting at him._

" _But dragons don't get burned. Wolves do" – she finally said._

" _Not if they are fast enough" – her father said, winking affectionately at her._

She tried to stand up but she couldn't. Her head hurt – her entire body hurt. She knew she was going to die. She wasn't fast enough. She couldn't even stand up.

Did her father feel the same? Did he try to get out of the car before the explosion? Did he feel his body hurt too? Did he spend his last moments thinking about his family?

The colors around her started to fade and the image of a dragon invaded her mind.

  


	2. Crime Novels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, commenting and following!

* * *

 

_So we stood hand-in-hand, like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us_ — Arthur Conan Doyle

 

* * *

 

The first thing Sansa saw when she opened her eyes was fire. She flinched, remembering the explosion.

She sat up and adjusted her eyes to the surroundings. She was no longer in the hotel and the flames in front of her only provided warmth and light. The campfire was surrounded with stones, preventing the flames from reaching her and the leaves on the ground.

Sansa took her eyes off of the fire and looked around. She immediately saw high trees trying to reach the moon and realized that she was in the forest.

She frowned. She had no memory of getting there. She tried to force her brain to remember but it was useless. She only remembered the explosion.

_How was she alive? How did she manage to escape?_

She felt dizzy as she tried to understand what was happening. She covered her face with her hands and saw multiple scratches on her hands and arms.

Her clothes were soiled and ripped. Her mouth tasted like smoke.

Sansa looked at her right leg and noticed a piece of cloth wrapped around it. She was about to stand up when a twig snapped loudly. She froze, afraid to move or turn her body.

She could feel sweat running down her forehead, her temples pounded harder and faster with every heartbeat.

Images of Ramsay invaded her mind. She remembered the way his vein pulsed whenever he got mad. She remembered the yelling. She remembered the finger shaped bruises over her body. She remembered the hospital visits. She remembered the broken ribs. She remembered his fists. She remembered the cuts. She remembered the blood on the inside of her thighs.

She tried to control her breathing.

She was no longer in Dreadfort. She was far away from him. They were no longer together. He couldn’t touch her anymore.

Slowly, the beating in her chest returned to normal. When she finally gained control of her fear, she forced her head to turn.

Sansa’s mouth fell open as she took in the man in front of her.

He had a strong jaw, curly black hair and a muscular body. She noticed the dark shadow of his beard along his jaw and her insides quivered. He was handsome.

He was wearing a pair of jeans, a black Henley, boots and a black leather jacket.

He was carrying a bundle of wood.

Before her gaze could follow the contours of his muscular chest she forced her eyes to look again at his face.

She remembered that face.

A sigh of relief escaped from her lips.

“You … You’re the guy from the bar” – she managed to say, getting up from the ground – “You’re the one who gave me back my drawing” – she continued to say – “I, I … what happened? How did we manage to escape the explosion at the hotel? Why are we in the middle of the forest?” – she babbled, walking clumsy towards him.

She tripped over her own feet. Before she could land hard on the ground, a strong but gentle hand grabbed her arm.

Sansa looked up and almost lost her breath when their eyes met. His eyes reminded her of the ocean when it’s gray.

“There was no one in the lobby” – she managed to say.

“I saw you entering in the hotel and followed you” – he finally spoke, looking away from her.

“You followed me …” – Sansa said, confused – “I don’t understand. Why did you follow me?” – she asked.

“Because you’re innocent” – Jon said, looking at her – “The explosion was not meant for you” – he added.

Sansa shook her head. She was feeling increasingly as if she were trapped in a strange dream.

“What do you mean the explosion was not meant for me? I thought it was an accident, like a gas leak or something. How did you know the building was going to explode?” – she said, trying to understand his words. Suddenly she tensed – “You did this. You caused the explosion” – she stated, taking a step back.

Jon watched her increasing the distance between them and something in his chest sank. She looked so happy when she saw him minutes ago; she looked so relieved … but now, now she looked scared. He was no longer the hero. He was the villain.

“I’m not going to kill you” – Jon said, immediately regretting the poor choice of words when he saw the way her eyes widened – “We need to keep moving” – he added, running his fingers through his hair.

“I’m going back to the hotel” – she said.

There was a note of raw courage in her voice that reached deep inside of him. She was scared but she refused to let him control her.

“You don’t know the way back to the hotel” – he said, taking a step forward so he could get closer to her.

“It can’t be that far” – she said, taking another step back.

Her back hit something hard and it took her a moment to realize it was a tree.

“I drove for an hour and carried you for at least twenty minutes” – Jon stated.

“You have a car?” – she asked, trying to ignore the part where he carried her through the forest. She must have collapsed after the explosion.

“I had to get rid of it” – he explained – “We need to keep moving. We’ve already lost too much time” – he added, grabbing her arm.

“So now I’m your hostage?” – she asked, struggling against the restrain, but it was no use.

“No, you’re not my hostage. I saved your life” – Jon said calmly.

“After you put it in danger!” – she exclaimed and Jon released her.

Sansa wrapped her arms around her torso as tears started to form in her eyes.

“Look, I don’t have time to argue with you about this. Can you just do what I say?” – exasperation clear on his voice.

He knew he owed her an explanation after what she had gone through because of him, but he couldn’t give it to her. She would just need to trust him.

“I don’t trust you” – she said, like she was hearing his thoughts. Jon rolled his eyes at himself – “I don’t even know you. Why did you explode the hotel? Why did you save me? Why am I here?” – she continued to say.

“The less you know the better” – Jon sighed.

She closed her eyes for a second, trying to compose herself.

“Is this the part where you say: _I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you_?” – she meant the question in all seriousness, but realized the moment the words were out of her mouth that she must have sounded rude, or worse, flirtatious.

He stared at her for a long moment, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“You didn't strike me as the type of person who likes to read crime novels” – Jon said, arching an eyebrow at her – “Did you read _The Hound of the Baskervilles_?”

“Well, looks can be deceiving. I didn’t expect you to be a criminal” – she half-feared he’d hit her or slap her face in response, but he simply looked at her curiously, making her stomach twist itself into burning knots. Sansa cleared her throat – “And to answer your question, yes, I read _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ , but I prefer the _Silver Blaze_ ”

“Ah! The curious incident of the dog in the night-time” – Jon said, remembering the story.

“You read it?” – Sansa asked, surprised.

“ _Is there any other point to which you would wish to draw my attention?_ ” – Jon said, quoting Gregory, the Scotland Yard detective.

“ _To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time_ ” – Sansa replied, quoting Sherlock Holmes.

“ _The dog did nothing in the night-time_ ” – Jon said.

“ _That was the curious incident_ ” – remarked Sansa/Sherlock Holmes.

Even though she was scared, even though she had no idea what was going on, she laughed. She didn’t remember the last time she had laughed and ironically it was the man who exploded an entire hotel the one who had made her laugh. She looked at him and felt her heart beating against her ribcage when she saw his beautiful white teeth behind his full lips.

She felt like Little Red Riding Hood looking at the Big Bad Wolf and for the first time she understood why Red had succumbed. The mood suddenly shifted from one of lighthearted fun to thick attraction that led to strange – dangerous – thoughts.

She looked away from him. Something in her chest ached, as if she were hungry or thirsty and she realized that the man in front of her was not the wolf, _she_ was the wolf.

_What was wrong with her? The guy was a bomber. He was dangerous. She should be running away from him, not quoting Arthur Conan Doyle._

She shivered.

_I must have a concussion, that's the only explanation_ – she said to herself.

She almost jumped when she felt something touching her shoulders. Before her mind could register what he was doing he moved closer and draped his leather jacket over her shoulders. Unconsciously her hands held the lapels. He smiled warmly, trying to calm her a bit.

“We need to keep moving” – he said.

Sansa remained in silence for a few seconds.

“Am I going to be safe with you?” – she finally spoke.

She didn’t exactly have a choice. She knew that she wouldn’t survive alone in the forest… and she didn’t know the way back to the hotel. He was her only chance of survival. She was stuck with him, but oddly that didn't scare her. Deep down, she knew that she could trust him and _that_ was what scared her. She felt safe with him. She didn’t know him but she felt safe with. She could feel a connection between them.

“Yes” – he said.

She searched for a lie in his eyes but she found none. She took a leap of faith.

“I’m Sansa” – she said, extending her hand to him.

Jon smiled. She was no longer looking at him with distrust. He took her hand, feeling how soft her skin was.

“Sansa” – he said, relishing the sound of her name on his lips.

She had never thought about her name much before, but when he said it, it was as if she were hearing it for the first time – the caress of the S, the way it seemed to end on a breath.

“I’m Jon” – he added, still holding her hand – “Do you trust me?”

Sansa bit her lower lip and nodded.

“I’ll protect you, I promise” – Jon said, not letting go of her hand.

 

* * *

 

The punching bag swayed back and forth like a pendulum and Rhaenys gave it another satisfying kick. Her muscles ached from spending the last two hours hitting the hanging punching bag.

Rhaenys took after her mother in appearance with the classic Dornish features of black hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. She was only three years old when her mother died.

Her gloved fists found the bag again, two blows in rapid succession. She punched and punched and punched. She ignored the pain. She would be ready when she faced him – _them_ – again.

“You’re getting worse” – a very familiar voice spoke.

She looked at the doorway and narrowed her eyes. He was busy polishing an apple on his shirt.

“Do you mind?” – Rhaenys demanded – “Leave. Both of you” – she added, looking back at the bag and planting a kick in it.

From the corner of her eye she saw Aegon and Gendry approaching.

Aegon leaned against the wall and grinned at her around the apple.

Gendry stopped on the opposite side of the bag and held it.

“It’s late. You should take a break” – he said but Rhaenys ignored him – “You’re still recovering” – he added.

She pictured Joffrey, Jaime and Cersei Lannister’s faces begging for mercy. In her mind they were suffering. She needed to be ready when she faced them again. Each bruise only made her stronger.

Her foot came dangerously close to Gendry, but he didn’t budge.

“They were three against one” – he insisted.

“I know that! I was there! But I should have stopped them!” – Rhaenys growled – “They got away because of me!”

She knew that Gendry was only trying to make her feel better but she couldn’t help displaying a little of stubbornness and …

“Your impatience…” – Aegon mumbled.

Rhaenys blew her hair from her face and looked at him. His blonde hair was mussed and his violet eyes shone in the dark. He stuck his tongue out at her and Rhaenys rolled her eyes.

“Do you think Jon is alright?” – she asked, turning her attention to her foster brother.

“He must be on his way to Undercliff” – Gendry said.

“And Walder Frey must be dead” – Aegon commented.

Rhaenys took off her gloves and rubbed her hands. She looked at the tattoo on her right wrist – a viper.

“An explosion was too good for him. I should have use my rapier on him” – she said.

“The Tullys and the Northern Families will know this was our doing. It's only a matter of time until the experts realize that the explosion was not an accident” – Gendry said – “They're going to retaliate” – he added.

“We’re in Valyria, London. They don’t come to London since Ned Stark died” – Rhaenys stated.

“If the mountain won't come to Muhammad then Muhammad must go to the mountain” – Aegon said.

“And who is the mountain in this scenario?” – Rhaenys asked – “Catelyn Stark, née Tully? Roose Bolton? Petyr Baelish?”

“All of them” – Aegon stated.

 

* * *

 

Sansa looked at the dark sky. The stars reminded her of snowflakes, sprinkling the night.

They had been walking for almost an hour. He seemed to know exactly the path they should follow, even if it all seemed the same to her. Jon kept checking on her, making sure she was okay. When they finally stopped she let herself fall heavily to the ground. She was exhausted and thirsty.

“We’ll rest here for a few hours” – Jon said – “You need to sleep”

She was going to protest when he wiped the sweat off his brow with the bottom of his shirt. Sansa caught a little glimpse of his stomach. She could see his muscular chest and defined abs and a small trail of dark hair that started low on his abdomen, divided the V peeking out at his hips, and disappeared beneath the top button of his jeans.

The sight of it gave her a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach and she forced her eyes to focus on something else but before she could take her eyes off of him she saw a gun hidden in the waistband of his pants.

“You have a gun” – she blurted, making Jon look at her – “Of course you have a gun” – she added, realizing how stupid she had sounded.

She tried to disguise her nervousness but Jon read her expression.

“You can fall asleep. I’m not going to hurt you” – he said. She eyed him warily. Jon grabbed the gun an extended it to her – “Keep the gun in hand if it makes you feel more comfortable”

“I don’t want your gun!” – Sansa immediately said – “Besides, I wouldn't even know how to use it”

“You never held a gun?” – Jon asked, slowly sitting across from her.

“No. I went to M.I.T, not the league of assassins” – Sansa said and Jon smiled.

He enjoyed the fact that she wasn’t afraid of speaking her mind. Was she like this with everyone else or only with him? Probably the former, since as soon as the words left her mouth she eyed him warily. It was almost like she was expecting him to be mad at her.

“I was ten the first time I held a gun” – he said – “Before that, my father only let me held axes, knives and swords” – he continued to say. Sansa remained in silence, looking at him with her mouth half opened – “I don’t know why I’m telling you this” – he added, faking a laugh, running his fingers through his hair.

He honestly didn’t know why he was sharing this kind of information with her. It was against everything he had learned. She was not family. She was a stranger. He wasn’t supposed to reveal so much of himself… but somehow the words insisted on stumbling out of his mouth, like the first time they met, or when he started to quote Arthur Conan Doyle.

It was like he was drawn to her. He had never experienced this kind of connection with anyone before.

“Are you from the Russian Mafia or something?” – Sansa asked, trying to understand the man in front of her.

“No, I’m not from the Bratva” – Jon said, unable to stop the words from leaving his mouth, _again_ – “I’m from London but my family is not exactly a ‘typical’ British family, if such a thing could exist” – he added, looking at the gun in his hand.

“You’re an organized crime family” – Sansa stated. It was not a question.

They met each other’s eyes and for a second Sansa thought she could see some guilt in his beautiful gray eyes.

Jon realized that he needed to stop talking. He couldn’t continue to share information with her. He couldn’t be an open book to her. The less she knew the better.

He couldn’t get attached. Her ability to get under his skin was starting to get out of control.

“You should rest” – he said.

Sansa bit her lower lip, trying to keep her mouth shut but the silence didn’t last long.

“Why didn’t you leave me in the hotel?” – she asked.

“I already told you” – Jon sighed – “The explosion was not meant for you”

“Yes, I know … but why did you bring me with you?” – Sansa insisted – “Why not just leave me near the hotel?” – she asked – “I’m clearly slowing you down”

“You’re not slowing me down” – Jon said.

“You didn’t answer my question” – Sansa said, arching an eyebrow at him.

“It was too dangerous … for you” – Jon started to explain, running a hand over his face – “The people I killed … they worked for dangerous people. It’s only a matter of time until they realize that my family was involved in the explosion” – he added – “If I left you there … you would be the only survivor.  They would try to exploit that … to see if you were involved too”

“But I am not involved. I don’t know anything about what happened” – Sansa declared.

“They wouldn’t believe you!” – Jon said with more roughness than he intended – “They would grab you and torture you until you confessed”

“How do you know that?” – she asked but Jon remained in silence, looking at his own hands. A disturbed thought invaded Sansa’s mind and she gulped – “Because that’s what _you_ would do” – she finally said in a voice so unsteady and low that he almost couldn’t make out her words.

She backed up, suddenly afraid of him.

Jon looked at her but this time no words came out of his mouth. He wanted to deny what she had just said; he wanted to tell her the truth, but then he realized that it was for the best if she saw him as a villain. The less she knew the better.

The long sleeves of his jacket hid her soft hands. He saw her chin trembling even if she tried to disguise it. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

When her hands found her right leg, Jon saw her touching the piece of cloth wrapped around it. After a few seconds she took her eyes off of the cloth and locked eyes with him. Once more, Jon felt like she could see right through him. He wondered if she could read his mind; if she knew the real reason why he knew what they would have done to her if he had left her in the hotel.

She looked as if there were something she wanted to say to him but before she could open her mouth Jon spoke.

“You should rest, Sansa” – he said, before lying down on the ground and focusing his eyes on the night sky.

Looking from the corner of his eye he saw her lying down next to him, keeping her back to him.

Hours later, she was shivering.

Jon saw her moving as close to him as she could get. She was stirring a bit in her sleep and Jon was unsure of what to do. He heard her mumbling something that he couldn’t quite understand and realized that she was having a nightmare.

After a few seconds he put his arms around her and held her tight. Slowly, the beating in her chest returned to normal and she stopped shivering.

He touched her face carefully, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. He had never done this before. He had never _just_ slept with a woman before. He used to leave almost immediately after sex and if he didn’t, then she would be the one to leave. He had never shared a bed with a woman just for sleeping.

Even if they weren’t exactly lying in bed, Jon couldn’t help but feel like something inside of him was slowly changing; like something in his soul was slowly rising and refused to be still.

The tension in Sansa’s face disappeared and Jon allowed himself to enter into the alluring world of dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, I really enjoyed writing it.  
> Please leave a review, it motivates and inspires me to write! (:


	3. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rape warning. It's nothing too graphic, but I wanted to make sure you're all warned.

* * *

 

 _I've had so many knives stuck into me, when they hand me a flower I can't quite make out what it is._ _It takes time_  ― Charles Bukowski

 

* * *

 

Sansa woke up with sun rays on her face. She tried to stretch her arms but she quickly realized that she couldn't move a muscle. She opened her eyes and froze. His hot breath was in her face.

She caught her ragged breath as she felt his warmth surrounding her. Both of his arms were around her.

Vivid flashes of Ramsay invaded her mind like a bad dream.

_She tried to squirm out of his grasp and he hit her again with the palm of his hand._

_The taste of the blood from her cut lip, streaming down her chin, and the way his fingers dug deep into her flesh, made her shiver._

_She fell back on the mattress and he hit her again. He jerked a knee between her closed legs and drove them apart._

_She tried to scream, but his hand was over her mouth. Tears flooded her eyes as she pushed against him but he was big and heavy and too strong._

_She knew what was going to happen next. She waited for it to be over. She waited for him to get up and walk out of the room but as soon as he climbed off of her he wrapped his arms around her and fell asleep, acting like nothing happened, ignoring the blood on the inside of her thighs – the evidence of what had happened._

Sansa's eyes became wide with fear as she looked at Jon. He was even bigger than Ramsay.

Suddenly, she pushed hard against his chest. He stirred, waking slowly. Sansa backed up, increasing the distance between them.

She was shaking. Her lungs hurt and she could hardly breathe.

Sansa wrapped her arms around herself tightly, hugging her own body.

"Sansa?" – Jon said softly, looking at the way she held herself so tight.

He moved his arm but before his hand could touch her shoulder she flinched.

Jon saw tears forming in her eyes and knew she was expecting him to erupt with rage. It was like she was expecting him to attack her. He felt sick. Her body language was undeniable. She was afraid of him.

He remembered last night and the way she eyed him warily every time she spoke her mind. As soon as the words got out of her mouth, her body tensed for a few seconds. It was like she feared he'd hit her or slap her face in response.

Jon didn't give it much thought, but now, the sight of her body tensing made him realized that maybe there was a reason – a dark reason – for her behavior.

Someone had hurt her before. It was the only explanation.

Scenarios, each one more twisted than the last, flitted through his brain. He didn't know why, but it bothered him that she was frightened of him.

 _Am I going to be safe with you?_ – her voice echoed in his mind.

His fists clenched. He would rip off the limbs of the person who dared to hurt her. He rarely felt such anger but he couldn't help it.  _How could anyone want to hurt Sansa?_

Jon barely knew her but he could see a light inside of her; a light that he didn't have. She was not like him or the people in his world. She was good and good people didn't deserve to suffer.

"You stirred in your sleep" – Jon spoke, trying to calm her down – "You were mumbling something and … and when I held you, you stopped shivering" – he tried to explain. Sansa bit her lower lip – "I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable"

Sansa looked away from him. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe in his words. She wanted to believe that he wasn't trying to take advantage of her.

She forced her eyes to look at him.

"I thought you … I thought you were …" – she trailed off.

Jon struggled to keep the bile down, realizing what she was trying to say.

She had been raped.

He was furious but he knew he couldn't let it show, otherwise he would only scare her even more.

"I'll never do that" – he managed to say, forcing his voice to remain calm.

Sansa did her best to breathe normally.

"I'm scared" – she admitted, holding the lapels of his leather jacket.

She had tried to be brave and strong after knowing about the explosion but now she was scared. She had taken a leap of faith. She had allowed herself to trust him. She had tried to disguise her fears.

_You'll never forget me. I'm part of you now. You might have escaped but a part of me will always be clung to you._

She could still remember Ramsays's words after her escape.

"I'll not let anything happen to you" – Jon said – "No one will ever hurt you anymore, I promise"

As soon as he said those words, he noticed the scrapes on her legs and face. Guilt surrounded him. He had already hurt her. She was bruised because of the explosion – because of him.

Sansa smiled hesitantly.

"Why do you care? You don't even know me" – she said.

She sniffed loudly through her nose and rubbed her eyes.

"I don't know" – Jon said, shaking his head – "I just … I don't usually get to meet people out of my world"

"Out of your world?" – Sansa asked, confused.

Jon scratched the back of his neck.

"Normal people" – he said – "People who don't learn to hold guns when they're ten. People who are not drug dealers, human traffickers or from the Bratva. People who are not from some rival family"

"Rival family" – Sansa echoed, arching an eyebrow – "How Shakespearian" – she added, looking at the piece of cloth wrapped around her leg.

Jon followed her gaze. He reached out, his hand inches away from her. Holding her gaze, he leaned closer, measuring the movement, giving her a chance to stop him.

Sansa nodded and Jon reached the dirty cloth wrapped around her leg. He unbound it and immediately saw the damp leaves and mud pressed to the wound. He looked at Sansa and saw her worried expression.

"So, that's your favorite?" – he asked, trying to distract her from the wound. She narrowed her eyes, saying without words that she was not following – " _Romeo and Juliet_ " – he explained.

"Oh, no" – Sansa said as Jon cleaned her wound – "I enjoy tragedies but my favorite is not  _Romeo and Juliet_ " – she remained in silence for a few seconds, searching for the right words – " _Come not between the dragon and his wrath_ " – she added.

Jon took his eyes off of the wound, so he could look at her. He arched his eyebrow and smiled, amused by the way she quoted Shakespeare.

" _King Lear_ " – Jon finally said.

"Impressive" – Sansa narrowed her eyes with a half-grin. A bomber who knew Shakespeare and Doyle. Did he read Charles Dickens as well? Jane Austen? It was almost surreal – "What about you?" – she asked.

Jon looked at her for a moment.

" _She loved me for the dangers I had passed, and I loved her that she did pity them_ " – Jon said and Sansa felt her body respond in what was becoming a familiar way. She could feel a connection between them. The kind of connection she had never shared with anyone before.

 _Did he feel the same?_  – she wondered.

" _Othello_ " – Sansa managed to say.

"Impressive" – Jon repeated her words, making her smile.

She felt her heart beating against her chest when she felt Jon's hand on her leg. She shivered lightly and Jon removed his hand from her leg.

He cleared his throat.

"These leaves are very rich in B vitamins and vitamin C, which make them great for speeding up recovery time of cuts, scrapes and other wounds" – he said – "They contain antibacterial and antiseptic properties as well" – he continued to explain as Sansa touched her skin – "You were bleeding. I thought the cut was deeper but it's only a shallow cut"

Sansa took her eyes off of the wound and looked at Jon.

His eyes were focused on the damp leaves. She looked at his calloused hands and remembered how warm they felt against her skin; how gentle his touch was. Sansa wondered how many lives had he taken using those same hands.

He didn't look like a criminal. He didn't look like a bad person.

 _Ramsay didn't look like a bad person_  – she remembered.

She shook her head. Jon was not Ramsay. Jon could be a criminal but he was not entirely bad. There was something about him that made her trust him; that made her want to know him.

Contrarily to Ramsay, Jon looked determined to take care of her. He offered her his jacket, he cleaned her wound and he held her during her sleep. He even made her laugh.

She felt like she could be herself with him. She enjoyed talking with him. He let her speak her mind. He listened to her without interrupting and he made her feel important. He didn't overpower her.

No, Jon was not Ramsay. He was better. He promised to protect her and Sansa knew he was not going to break that promise.

"Thank you" – she softly said.

Jon continued to look at his own hands.

"It was the least I could do after putting your life in danger" – he said.

Sansa smiled.  _Jon was not Ramsay._

 

* * *

 

Catelyn Stark was waiting at the airport for almost an hour. She could see the arriving passengers departing with or without someone waiting for them.

She looked around but Sansa was nowhere to be seen.

Catelyn was becoming concerned. The last time she talked with Sansa, she told her the flight number and the exact time when the plane would arrive.

She felt a large lump in her throat. She tried to avoid losing control of her emotions and swallowed hard.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She quickly replaced her features with a mask of blank expression. She turned her head and saw Petyr looking at her with a concerned look.

Catelyn cleared her throat.

"What is it?" – she said.

"Have you seen the news today?" – he asked.

Catelyn looked at him, confused.

"No" – her heart started to beat faster – "Why?" – she managed to ask.

"There was an explosion at the hotel where Walder Frey was hosted" – Petyr said – "Our men are already on the island. He's dead. Someone planted bombs in the hotel and…" – he remained in silence for a moment – "… and there is no sign of Sansa, Cat"

Catelyn's stomach clenched.

 _Not her, not Sansa_  – she yelled in her mind.

She was still innocent. She didn't know anything about the family business. She didn't know the truth. It was her birthright to know but Robb had insisted to keep the girls away from their dark world for a little longer. Catelyn knew that Bran and Rickon were too young to know the truth but the girls weren't.

She reluctantly agreed but after some thinking she got to the conclusion that the girls needed to know. She needed to tell them.

Sansa could be very useful. She had been a brilliant student and went to M.I.T. The company needed her Computational Science and Engineering skills. She was certain that her daughter would join them, like Robb did.

She was not so sure about Arya. Her youngest daughter was impulsive and Catelyn knew that she couldn't be tamed, but she also knew that Arya would make a great fighter, perhaps even a great spy. She had always been very athletic and she loved all types of martial arts. She was now in Thailand learning Muay Thai.

Sansa's birthday was in a month. That would be the day she would tell them about the family business.

"No…" – her voice barely above a whisper – "No … she can't be … she can't be dead" – her voice broke on  _dead_.

She felt her knees trembling and her body started to shake.

"Only Walder Frey and his men were in the building when the explosion happened" – Petyr spoke, catching her attention – "No guest was caught in the explosion"

Catelyn took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

"I don't understand. What are you trying to say?" – she managed to ask, her eyes never leaving Petyr's.

"We have reasons to believe that the Targaryens are involved" – he explained. Catelyn's eyes widened as she tried to process what Petyr just said – "I think they have her, Cat" – he added.

Catelyn Stark remained in silence. She could hear Petyr's words echoing in her head.

_I think they have her, Cat_

She clenched her fists, struggling for control.

She would send all dragons to Hell … and the ninth circle of Hell was cold.

 

* * *

 

Sansa didn't know how long they had been walking but as soon as her feet touched the sand a sigh of relief escaped from her lips. They were no longer surrounded by trees.

The echoes of waves crashing against the shore made her smile. She pulled off her brown leather thong sandals and quickened her pace until her bare feet touched the water.

She turned around and smiled at Jon. Her heart started pounding in her chest when he smiled back.

He approached her and Sansa couldn't help but think how beautiful he was as the wind from the sea ruffled his hair. She wanted to smooth it from his face; to feel her fingers running through his hair.

"There's a hunting cabin, over there" – Jon said, pointing with his hand at the small cabin – "There should be a bag with food and water" – he explained – "Can you stay here for a moment? I'm just going to check it out first" – he added, grabbing the handgun out of his waistband.

"Roger that" – Sansa said, making Jon smile.

"You can get all the grime off while I check the cabin" – he added, gesturing towards the ocean.

Sansa nodded. She wanted nothing more than to be clean again. Her mouth still tasted like smoke. Her clothes were soiled and even her hair was out of sorts. Long strands of hair, escaped from her braid and Sansa wished she had a hairbrush.

She watched Jon making his way towards the cabin and waded deeper into the ocean.

She took off Jon's jacket and put it on a rock near her, then she dipped under water. Her scratches stung and her muscles ached. The initial shock of the cold water on her skin caused goosebumps to appear over her pale skin.

She pulled out her hair tie. Her hair billowed out under the saltwater, moving freely. She scrubbed as much of the dirt off as she could.

Her clothes were clutched to her body and water dribbled from her drenched hair. She grabbed Jon's jacket and staggered out of the ocean.

She saw Jon walking towards her and blushed, suddenly feeling naked and vulnerable. She was drenched and rivulets of water ran down her shivering body. She placed Jon's leather jacket in front of her, trying to cover her body.

Sansa felt something soft and heavy touching her shoulders and took her eyes off of her feet. She quickly realized it was a blanket. She pulled it tight around her.

"Thanks" – she managed to say, looking up at Jon.

"Get inside. The cabin is safe" – Jon said, taking a step back – "It's warmer inside than here" – he added.

Sansa nodded and started walking towards the hunting cabin.

She was about to step inside the cabin when she turned her head and almost lost her breath.

Her eyes widened when she saw Jon taking off his shirt. She tried not to stare, but she couldn't help it.

He was naked to the waist. She could see his broad back and defined muscles in his upper arms. His back was also heavily muscled but tapered down to a very thin and narrow waist.

Unconsciously she licked her lips. She could also see the dark curly hair at the back of his neck.

Jon dove in and Sansa entered in the cabin.

 

* * *

 

"Is father not back yet?" – Aegon asked, bursting into Gendry's room without knocking.

Rhaenys was sat on the bed with her legs crossed as she watched Gendry packing a Glock 45.

"You know how these meetings with the Tyrells work" – Rhaenys said without looking at him.

Aegon sat down next to her.

"I wouldn't mind having a private meeting with Margaery Tyrell" – he commented. Rhaenys and Gendry ignored him – "When does Dany return?" – he asked.

"I don't know, Aegon!" – Rhaenys exclaimed, starting to get annoyed by Aegon's unnecessary questions – "Do I look like an appointment book?"

Aegon opened his mouth to respond but she shoved her elbow into his side.

Gendry tried to stifle a laugh and Rhaenys narrowed her eyes.

She threw a pillow into his direction but Gendry was faster. He moved his body. The pillow missed Gendry by at least a foot and hit the lamp on the desk.

"I didn't say anything!" – he said defensibly.

"But you thought!" – Rhaenys retorted.

"Since when can you read people's minds, sister?" – Aegon asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

Rhaenys snorted and fell back against the pillows on the bed, ignoring her brother.

"Are you going to pick up Jon?" – Aegon asked Gendry.

"Yes" – Gendry said – "But I have to go to Portsmouth first. The helicopter is there"

"You're not taking the jet?" – Aegon asked.

"I can't exactly land the jet on the beach" – Gendry stated, making Rhaenys laugh. Aegon threw a dark look in her direction – "I'll take the jet till Portsmouth and then I'll change to the helicopter" – he explained.

"Do you want some company?" – Aegon asked – "I need entertainment"

"I already have company" – Gendry said – "And we both know  _he_ 's a better pilot than you" – he added, emphasizing the word  _he_.

Rhaenys felt her heart beating against her ribcage and tried to control her breathing, after hearing Gendry's words. She felt her cheeks flush red as  _his_  handsome face invaded her mind.

"Blasphemy!" – Aegon exclaimed, interrupting her thoughts.

"Besides, I need to stop at Jon's flat first" – Gendry continued to say, smirking at him.

"Can't you just let him starve?" – Aegon huffed.

"And you're still surprised he doesn't like you" – Gendry said, rolling his eyes.

"That beast hates me!" – Aegon said, jumping out of the bed.

"You stepped on his tail" – Rhaenys stated.

"It was an accident!" – he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air theatrically.

"Did you apologize?" – Rhaenys asked with a stern face even though her tone was light-hearted.

Aegon looked at her like she was mad.

Gendry put his duffel bag over his shoulder and walked towards the door.

"Are you serious?" – Aegon said, raising his eyebrows at his sister – "He's not a person…"

When Gendry left the room, Aegon and Rhaenys were still bickering.

 

* * *

 

"Chocolate peanut butter or gingerbread?" – Jon asked, reading the labels on the granola bars.

"Chocolate, obviously" – Sansa said.

"Obviously" – Jon repeated, handing her a granola bar and a water bottle. He waited until she took a bite – "Sorry about the food" – he added, realizing that the food tasted a little bland.

"It's fine. I wasn't exactly expecting something from a five stars restaurant" – Sansa said, after drinking some water.

They were sat near the fireplace. Jon watched her as she ate the granola bar. The dancing light from the fireplace accentuated the red color of her hair and Jon caught himself contemplating her appearance.

Her long hair fell unadorned over her shoulders in gentle waves. The light coming from the fireplace made her eyes sparkle; her skin looked luminous and soft. She was absolutely beautiful.

Sansa felt his gaze upon her and turned her head. Jon looked away, feeling his cheeks flush.

He focused his attention on his shirt. He had put it over the back of an old chair to dry.

He drank some of his water and reminded himself that he couldn't get attached.

"I'm sorry" – her voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked at her, confused – "About what I said yesterday" – she explained, remembering the moment she had insinuated that he was like the people he killed – "I didn't mean it … I, I know that you wouldn't …" – she trailed off, biting her lower lip.

"I can't blame you for thinking that about me" – Jon said, avoiding eye-contact.

Sansa tried not to look at him but her gaze was drawn to him. Jon was still shirtless. She remembered seeing his back early but she was too far away from him to notice the marks on his skin. Some looked like knife wounds, others like bullet wounds.

Jagged scars marred his beautiful pale skin and something in Sansa's chest ached as she thought about the physical pain he had endured.

Before Sansa could stop herself she reached out and touched his bare shoulder. Her fingers traced a long scar that streaked viciously across his shoulder and down the length of his back.

"I'm sorry … I shouldn't have …" – she suddenly said, realizing what she had just done.

She was about to pull her hand away when Jon grabbed it, preventing her from removing her hand from his shoulder.

She feared he would hurt her but his hand was soft and warm.

"I might not be a hero, Sansa, but I'm not him …" – Jon murmured as their eyes met.

Sansa remained in silence, looking at his beautiful gray eyes.

For a moment Jon regretted his words. He shouldn't have said that. He didn't want her to think about the man who hurt her before. The mere thought of someone laying a finger on her filled him with rage, awaking the dragon inside him.

He wanted her to look at him and see something more than a killer. He shouldn't want that but he couldn't help it. She made him want things that he shouldn't; things out of his world.

A shy smile appeared on her face and Jon removed his hand from hers.

Sansa continued tracing the raised scar and Jon closed his eyes, enjoying her touch.

"The people you killed…" – she spoke – "Did they do this to you?"

Jon shivered a little as a disturbed memory invaded his mind.

"No" – he said. His voice barely a whisper – "It was another person" – he added.

"Why?" – Sansa asked softly.

"She didn't like my answers" – he said.

Sansa's fingertips continued to trace his scar.

"Did you kill her?" – she asked, feeling her heart beating fast and her pulse throbbing.

"No" – Jon said after a few seconds of silence.

Sansa moved away a little and Jon felt the loss of her hand against his skin.

"Ramsay used to say that I heal fast" – Sansa said, looking at the flames in the fireplace – "That it was a good thing because that way I wouldn't have scars plaguing my skin … and I don't" – she continued to say and Jon tensed – "One day he saw one of my drawings and he didn't like it" – she trailed off – "He hurt my wrist, so I couldn't draw anymore"

Jon swallowed hard. Whoever this Ramsay person was, he was a dead man. He would kill him, slowly and painfully.

He wondered if the Ramsay from her past was the same Ramsay he knew.

The face of Ramsay Bolton appeared right in front of his eyes. The man gave a whole new meaning to the word  _monster_. He didn't care about collateral damage. Ramsay Bolton would explode a building full of children without thinking twice if that meant he would succeed in his mission (whatever the mission was).

He didn't care about anyone but himself. He used to peel off the skin of his enemies before killing them. The man was worse than a monster.

"I've always wanted to be a painter" – Sansa's voice brought him back to reality. He remembered her sketch of a dragon – "What about you?" – she asked, looking at him.

"I'm terrible at drawing" – Jon said, making Sansa laugh.

She had a beautiful laugh; it was sweet and sexy at the same time.

"So you always wanted to be a member of a group who undertakes law enforcement without legal authority?" – she asked and this time Jon was the one who laughed.

She was avoiding to use the words: criminal, bomber, killer, murderer…

For the first time in his life Jon felt less dark.

"I was born into it" – he said when the laughter stopped.

"And what if you were not born into it?" – Sansa insisted – "What would you wish to be?"

Jon looked at her and heard his own heart beating against his ribcage.

"I don't know" – he said, feeling his cheeks flush – "I've never thought about it" – he lied, scratching the back of his neck.

Sansa didn't seem convinced.

"So there's not one single moment in your whole life that you wanted to be something else?" – she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

Jon approached the old chair near the fireplace and grabbed his shirt. It was already dry.

He put the shirt on, trying to disguise his nervousness.

He was starting to enjoy her company a little too much. He couldn't afford to let her get under his skin. He simply couldn't. His life was too full of risks. He couldn't start developing feelings for her. He couldn't drag her into his world. She was good and funny and smart … and she made him feel normal.

He was a Targaryen. His family was at the same time his weakness and his strength and he could only have one weakness.

He looked at her big blue eyes and felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest.

In that moment he realized that he no longer had only  _one_  weakness. She was already his weak point. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to hurt the people who hurt her. He wanted to know her. He wanted her to tell him about herself, her dreams, her past, her favorite food, her favorite book, her favorite color ... and he wanted her to know him,  _really_  know him. He wanted her to know the part of him that was not dark.

The words stumbled out of his mouth before he was even aware of his lips parting:

"A vet or a photographer" – he spoke – "Or maybe a chef" – he added.

"A chef, hmm?" – Sansa said, surprised.

"I like cooking" – Jon said, lost in her smile.

"I'm terrible at cooking" – Sansa admitted – "I can't even fry an egg and every time I make a sandwich, I always tear the bread when I'm trying to spread the peanut butter"

Jon laughed. He tried not to but the way she wrinkled her nose, pursed her lips, and tilted her head to one side as she babbled was enough to make him burst into laughter. She was funny.

Sansa looked at him.

"Yeah. It's very funny. It's hilarious" – she tried to sound indignant, but failed – "Stop laughing at me!" – she laughed.

"Not at you…" – Jon said, grinning – "more because of you" – he explained – "You're funny and you have a beautiful laugh" – he added, looking right into her eyes.

Sansa blushed.

 _You're funny and you have a beautiful laugh._ No one has ever told her that before. Ramsay didn't like when she started telling jokes or babbling.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to think of something to say.

She cleared her throat, before speaking.

"So what's the plan now?" – she asked.


	4. Unplanned

* * *

 

 _An unusual beginning must have an unusual end_  ― Mikhail Lermontov

 

* * *

 

"Now we have to wait for my brother" – Jon said.

"Your brother?" – Sansa asked.

"Gendry" – Jon explained – "He's going to pick us up"

Sansa wrinkled her nose, confused.

"How? We're in the middle of nowhere" – she asked.

"Using a helicopter" – Jon said, seeing the way her eyes widened in surprise.

"Your family has a helicopter?" – Sansa asked, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Yeah…" –  _and a jet_ , Jon added to himself.

Sansa bit her lower lip.

"And then … what happens to me?" – she said softly – "Will you let me go?" – she asked, meeting Jon's eyes.

The double meaning of her sentence made Jon's heart beat faster than ever and it took him a moment for him to allow the words to leave his mouth.

"Yes" – he finally said.

Sansa focused her attention on the flames in the fireplace.

Jon knew that he was not being entirely honest with her, or himself. He was already planning to send some guards to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was safe … or maybe he would be the one to keep an eye on her, making sure that Ramsay would never lay a finger on her again. He would find the man and he would make him pay for everything he did to Sansa.

Jon watched Sansa wringing her hands nervously. He waited for her to say something, but she remained in silence, lost in her own thoughts.

"So, did you study Art at M.I.T?" – he asked, trying to break the silence between them.

As soon as the words left his mouth he realized how stupid he must have sounded.

Jon knew M.I.T was the best university in the world. He knew it offered a wide variety of courses to study, both at the undergraduate and graduate level, but he genuinely didn't know if students could actually study Art there. As far as he knew, most people went to M.I.T to study engineering and science, but Sansa said that she always wanted to be a painter, so …

"No" – Sansa interrupted his thoughts. Before Jon could open his mouth, she spoke again – "My mother had other plans. I have a degree in Computational Science and Engineering. She wanted me to join the Company so …" – she explained, running her hand through her hair – "It was for the best. My dad was the supportive one. I used to spend hours drawing in his office while he worked"

Jon noticed her sad smile and quickly read her expression. She had lost her father.

"What happened?" – he asked softly.

"He died in a car accident when I was twelve …" – she started to say – "After that, I didn't draw for almost a year" – she explained, looking at the flames in the fireplace. Jon remained in silence – "My mum bought a new house and then, one day, when we were packing our things I found a box in my father's office" – Sansa continued to say – "The box was full of drawings. He kept all of my drawings, even the ones I hid and tried to destroy … the ones I crumpled up … he kept them all" – she smiled.

"And you started drawing again" – Jon completed.

"Yes" – Sansa said, looking at him – "Sometimes I draw his face … as near as I can remember"

Jon smiled.

"At least you have memories of him" – he said, after a few seconds of silence – "My mother died when I was still a baby" – he added – "I have no memories of her"

The sadness in his voice struck at Sansa's heart.

"How did she die?" – she asked.

"She was killed" – Jon said, avoiding eye-contact.

Sansa inched closer to him.

"I'm sorry" – she said softly, making him look at her – "Do you have any more siblings, besides Gendry?" – she asked, trying to change the subject.

"I have another brother and two more sisters" – Jon said – "Well, technically I only have one sister. Dany is my aunt but we have the same age and we were raised together so …"

The whirring of a helicopter caught their attention. Jon got up from the floor and extended his hand to Sansa. He held her hand and helped her getting up.

He grabbed his jacket and draped it over Sansa's shoulders.

It was becoming their thing – Sansa realized.

"Our ride has arrived" – Jon stated.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn had been pacing back and forth in her office for hours. She kept looking at the family photo and at her phone.

She hated feeling powerless. She needed to do something. She needed to act.

She pressed Robb's number for the twentieth time, almost breaking her phone. No response.

_Why doesn't he answer my calls?_

She needed to talk to him. She needed information.

Catelyn was so focused on her phone that she almost jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She turned her body and saw Petyr looking at her.

"Did you find her? Do you know where she is?" – she immediately asked.

"Our men are already tracking her" – Petyr said calmly.

Catelyn started pacing around the room. Her hands were moving on their own. She ran a hand through her hair, her actions frantic.

She shouldn't have let Sansa stay in the same hotel as Walder Frey. She shouldn't even have let her go on this trip in the first place, at least not alone. She should have sent Arya with her, or Robb, or herself.

She should have been more careful. Walder Frey had many enemies. She had allowed her daughter to stay near one of the most dangerous men in their organization. She had put her own daughter in harm's way. Sansa didn't have the training, not yet. She was still innocent, fragile … and now, now she was a wolf away from her pack; a wolf surrounded by dragons.

"But she's with them!" – she said, almost like she was talking to herself. Her chest became tight – "What if she's with him?" – she asked, looking at Petyr – "What if she's with  _him_?" – she repeated, remembering his gray eyes and his raven hair.

She grabbed Petyr's arms.

"Exploding buildings isn't exactly his  _modus operandi_ " – he said, trying to calm her down.

"I should have killed him when I had the chance" – Catelyn roared, stepping away from Petyr.

She looked at her phone again.

"We caught him before and we'll catch him again" – Petyr stated, watching Catelyn's frantic movements.

"Why doesn't he answer my calls?" – Catelyn exclaimed, pressing Robb's number again.

Petyr scooted closer and took the phone from her hand. Catelyn opened her mouth to protest but Petyr was faster.

"He's probably with them, Cat" – he said, trying to make her see sense – "He's a spy. He'll call you when he can. We need to wait"

 

* * *

 

The first thing Gendry saw when he climbed out of the helicopter was a red haired woman on the beach. The second thing Gendry saw was Jon leaning into the red haired woman. He watched the two of them interacting, trying to understand what was happening. Jon was supposed to be the only one on the beach.

_Who was this woman? Was she a hostage?_

Gendry focused his attention on the woman. She seemed vaguely familiar. He was almost sure he had seen her face before. His eyes widened when he noticed that she was wearing Jon's jacket.

He shook his head.  _What the bloody hell was happening?_

Gendry saw Jon walking towards him and approached him. The woman remained in the same place, watching Jon.

"Jon … What is going on?" – Gendry asked, confused – "A hostage? This wasn't part of the plan" – he added in a more controlled voice.

Jon ran a hand through his hair as Gendry looked at him, waiting for a response.

"I know, I know … and she is not a hostage" – Jon started to say – "She was inside the hotel when the explosion happened. I couldn't let her die" – he sighed – "She's innocent"

"Is she?" – Gendry immediately asked, arching an eyebrow. Jon looked at him confused – "I just …" – he trailed off, looking at the place where Sansa was – "Doesn't she seem familiar to you?" – he asked, turning his attention back to Jon – "I think I've seen her face before"

"No, she's innocent" – Jon said – "She was a hotel guest. She almost died because of me, Gendry" – he insisted.

Gendry remained in silence, looking at him.

Jon was the good one – he reminded himself.

He used to spend weeks working on the best plan … and to Jon the best plan was the one with no collateral damage. He didn't mind wasting more time if in the end no innocent people died.

The Targaryen family always tried not to involve innocent people but sometimes it was inevitable. Every time that happened Jon spent an entire week brooding, despite Aegon's attempts to cheer him up.

If Jon was the good one, then Aegon was the optimistic one, aka the careless one. Contrarily to Jon, Aegon was impulsive. Jon was a master of control, Aegon not so much.

Rhaenys was also impulsive, but unlike Aegon she was not the optimistic type. She was impatient and hated when something didn't go the way she planned. In other words, she hated surprises.

Daenerys was good with words and people. She was fearless. She could look like an angel but she was as dangerous as any professional killer.

The Targaryens could have quite the temper. Gendry always wondered if that was why he fitted in so well.

He remembered the first time he met Jon, Aegon, Rhaenys and Daenerys.

He was ten when Rhaegar caught him trying to steal his wallet. After that, his days as a pickpocket were over and he became part of the Targaryen family. Rhaegar took him in and turned him into something more than a mere thief or an orphan – he turned him into a dragon.

Gendry only needed a week to realize how different the four siblings were. Despite their differences, Gendry quickly recognized they made an excellent team. They had each other's back and turned flaws into qualities.

"I've never met anyone like her before" – Jon's voice interrupted his thoughts – "She's funny and she's sweet and she's smart and –"

"And you like her" – Gendry interrupted him.

Jon remained in silence, staring at his brother in disbelief. Gendry arched an eyebrow at him and Jon faked a laugh.

"I just met her" – he said, trying to sound unaffected by Gendry's words but his foster brother didn't seem convinced.

"She's wearing your jacket" – Gendry pointed out.

Jon opened his mouth to protest but before the words could leave his mouth his body tensed.

He and Gendry shared a look. The look on Gendry's face was all the answer he needed. He had heard it too. They needed to move before the beach turned into a battlefield.

"I left my gun in the helicopter" – Gendry said quietly.

Jon clenched his jaw and grabbed the gun out of his waistband. He walked towards Sansa. Gendry followed him.

Jon noticed the way Sansa was holding the lapels of his jacket and forced his face to remain neutral. She was nervous even if she tried to disguise it. Her eyes were locked on the gun he was holding. He remembered the fear he'd seen on Sansa's face the first time she saw the gun in his waistband.

Sansa watched him and Gendry cautiously.

"Jon, what is it?" – she asked, frightened – "What did I do?"

Jon struggled to keep the bile down, realizing that she was probably thinking that he was going to hurt her, like Ramsay hurt her.

 _What did I do?_  – her words echoed in his mind.

How many times did she say those words before? How many times did she feel afraid and powerless against Ramsay? How many times did she watch Ramsay lose his temper around her? How many times did Ramsay hit her?

Jon looked away from her, trying to erase those thoughts from his mind. He needed to focus, otherwise he wouldn't be able to protect her.

"You have to take her to the helicopter" – he said, turning his attention to Gendry.

He nodded without asking any questions. He had understood the plan.

Jon grabbed the bolt of the gun with his right hand but before he could pull it back, he felt Sansa's hand touching his.

"Jon…" – she said softly, making him look at her – "What's happening?"

She was biting her trembling lip.

"Don't worry. Everything is fine" – he said, forcing a smile – "Go with Gendry" – he added.

"What about you?" – she managed to ask. Her eyes never leaving his.

"I'll follow" – Jon stated.

"But –" – Sansa tried to say but Jon was faster.

"Trust me" – he said, cupping her face with his left hand. He noticed that her blue eyes were filled with unshed tears – "We don't have much time" – he continued to say – "Go with Gendry and don't look back. No matter what you hear, don't look back" – he added.

Sansa's eyes widened in fear as she realized what was about to happen. She shook her head.

"I'm not going anywhere without you" – she said weakly.

She raised her chin defiantly and looked him in the eye.

A small smile appeared on Jon's face when he understood the reason why she was being so stubborn. She was worried about him.

He remembered the night of the explosion.  _I'm going back to the hotel_  – she had said. How much has changed in less than a couple of days.

She trusted him now. She worried about him now.

Once again, Jon felt there was a connection between them. Once again, Jon forced his eyes to look away from her so he could focus on the plan.

He gave Gendry a discrete nod and took a step away from Sansa. Gendry grabbed her arms.

Jon pulled back the bolt and heard the click.

He turned around, doing his best to ignore Sansa's protests.

"Now!" – he roared, before pulling the trigger, commanding Gendry to start running.

He shot the first man in the head and turned his attention to his next target. He wanted to look over his shoulder and confirm if Gendry and Sansa were already in the helicopter but he knew he couldn't. He had to get rid of these men before they could reach Sansa. He had to keep her safe.

A million questions were starting to invade his mind.

 _How did they find him?_ He had got rid of the car. He had spent an entire night hidden in the forest.

He knew that the Northern Families would find out that the explosion that killed Walder Frey was not an accident. He knew that they were going to retaliate, but he didn't expect them to find him while he was still on the island.

It didn't make any sense. There was no way they could know the exact place where he was hidden. This was a deserted beach. Most people didn't even know this place existed. Even if they saw the helicopter arriving, it would take them hours to reach the beach.

Jon continued to shoot at the men, preventing them to approach the helicopter.

He saw at least six men entering the beach and started running towards the helicopter.

Jon could feel grains of sand hitting his skin as the sound of the beating of the helicopter's rotor blades turning invaded his ears.

Shots kicked up dirt around him as he sped across the beach. He could hear the sound of men shooting as they ran.

He felt a sting and something warm on his left arm. Then a sharp pain told him he had been shot.

He looked at the helicopter and mentally thanked Gendry. He was shooting at the men that were following him, so he could climb into the helicopter.

As soon as Jon entered in the helicopter, he immediately searched for Sansa.

She was sitting in the back of the helicopter, her head between her knees as she struggled for breath.

Jon felt the hard vibration of the machine as the helicopter shot upwards. He shoved the gun aside and crawled to her as gravity pressed him down against the steel floor.

A sigh of relief escaped from his lips as soon as he saw that she was alright; she was safe; she hadn't been shot.

"Sansa…" – he said softly, trying not to scare her.

She slowly raised her head, revealing her face to him. The sight of her red and swollen eyes was like a knife through his heart.

Unconsciously, he reached out and touched her face.

"It's alright. You're safe" – he said tenderly, trying to calm her down.

Sansa bit her lower lip, preventing the tears from falling.

Jon caressed her cheek, pulling some strands of hair from her face.

"You were shot" – she suddenly said with a trembling voice, looking at his arm.

Jon saw her worried expression and looked at the wound on his arm. It wasn't serious. The bullet just scratched his skin.

"It's nothing" – he said calmly, trying to erase her worried expression from her face – "I've had worse" – he added, but Sansa's facial expression didn't change.

"I, I, looked back and –" – Sansa tried to say.

Jon clenched his jaw. She wasn't supposed to have seen that. She wasn't supposed to see this part of him. She would never look at him the same way now. She would look at him and see a killer, a monster.

She was normal. She wasn't supposed to see people shooting at each other; she wasn't supposed to see people dying right in front of her. She was normal and she made him feel normal.

"I told you not to look back" – Jon said with more roughness than he intended. They remained in silence for a few seconds – "You shouldn't have seen that" – he explained, softer this time.

"You were outnumbered and they had guns…" – she said with a trembling voice, looking right into his eyes – "You could have …" – she trailed off, fighting back the tears.

Jon's chest tightened at the sound of her distress. It took him a moment to understand what she was trying to say.

Sansa was not looking at him with repulsion. She looked scared, scared  _for_  him. Inside her blue eyes, Jon could see that she was scared that he wouldn't be fast enough, scared that he would die.

His heart started to beat faster as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that she'd been afraid for him. She didn't see him as a monster. She wanted him safe. She cared for him.

"I didn't" – he managed to say, grabbing her right hand and entwining their fingers together. He moved their entwined fingers and rested their hands between their bodies, over his chest – "See? It's still beating" – he smiled – "I'm here"

Before his mind could register what she was doing, Sansa's body collided against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Jon could feel the way her back lifted and fell with each breath she took.

He hesitated for a moment before hugging her back. He felt her hot breath on his neck and wrapped his arms around her torso.

He closed his eyes and held her tight. He moved his right hand so he could slide his fingers through her hair, cradling the back of her head.

They remained like this for a long time, unaware of Gendry's curious look.

 

* * *

 

After making sure that Sansa was okay, Jon made his way towards the cockpit. Gendry was sat on the pilot's chair; his eyes focused on the control panel.

Jon sat next to him and took a deep breath, trying to process all that happened.

Gendry seemed to read his mind and broke the silence.

"How do you think they found us?" – he asked.

"I have no idea" – Jon said, running a frustrated hand over his face – "I got rid of the car. I spent the night hidden in the forest and then walked to the deserted beach" – he continued to say – "Only our family knew about the whole plan"

"Maybe they saw the helicopter…" – Gendry commented.

Jon shook his head.

"Even if they did, it would take them hours to reach the beach" – he stated – "I worked on this plan for weeks" – he added, frustrated.

"As far as I know she wasn't part of the plan" – Gendry said, looking at him. Jon frowned – "Look, I know you have a thing for red heads, but did it ever occur to you that she can be a spy?" – he asked, quietly.

"She's not" – Jon said through gritted teeth, trying to keep his voice down – "I already told you… she was a hotel guest. She isn't involved in any of this. She's normal" – he explained, looking over his shoulder. Sansa was still sat in the back of the helicopter, looking out the window.

"You shouldn't have dragged her with you" – Gendry said, making Jon look at him – "You should have –"

" – left her near the hotel?" – Jon cut him off – "So they could do to her what they did to me?" – he asked harshly and Gendry eyed him warily – "You know I couldn't let that happen" – he murmured, avoiding eye-contact.

The two brothers remained in silence for a few seconds.

"Well, if she's a spy, she's an excellent one" – Gendry said, catching Jon's attention – "She seemed genuinely worried about you" – he explained and Jon felt his cheeks flush – "And you seemed genuinely worried about her" – he added – "Does she know about what we do?"

Jon nodded.

"She figured it out" – he stated – "According to her we are members of a group who undertakes law enforcement without legal authority" – he said, remembering Sansa's words.

Gendry laughed.

"She really said that?" – he asked, still laughing.

"She did" – Jon smiled.

"Maybe you can get her to join up" – Gendry suggested.

"No" – Jon immediately said – "She's normal. I don't want her to get involved" –  _I want her to be safe_ , he added to himself – "Once we land in London, I'm taking her home"

" _Taking her home_?" – Gendry repeated – "She knows what we do. What if she tells anyone about us, about our family?" – he asked.

"She doesn't know who we are. I didn't tell her my last name" – Jon said, realizing that he didn't know her last name either. He didn't even know where she lived.

"So we're just going to let her go?" – Gendry asked.

 _Will you let me go?_ – Sansa's words invaded Jon's mind.

The need to be near her was increasing and he could feel an actual physical pain every time he imagined that in a few hours she would return home and he would never see her again.

He shook his head.

No, he would not lose her. He could feel a connection between them. He needed to make sure she was safe.

He had already decided his next mission and, for the first time in his life, his mission had nothing to do with the family business. He would take her home, keep an eye on her and check the people around her. He would find the man who hurt her and he would make him pay for everything he did to Sansa and then … then he would do the right thing – he would let her go.

 _Liar_  – he heard his own conscience say.

Jon bit the inside of his cheek. Who was he trying to fool? Of course he wouldn't let her go. He would continue to make sure that she was safe and happy.

He knew he couldn't drag her to his dark world, which meant that Sansa would be oblivious of his presence, but he didn't care. People called him  _Ghost Dragon_  for a reason.

"Gods, you really have a thing for red heads" – Gendry's voice interrupted his thoughts – "You're not planning to let her go, are you?" – he asked, not waiting for Jon's response – "You're just going to let her think that you did… You're going to take her home and you're going to watch her from afar" – he continued to say.

"Don't be ridiculous" – Jon grumbled, avoiding eye-contact.

"I'm being ridiculous?" – Gendry laughed mirthlessly – "Jon…" – he insisted.

"Fine, you're right" – Jon admitted – "I'm going to keep an eye on her"

"Why?" – Gendry immediately asked.

Jon clenched his jaw.

"There's someone I need to kill" – he said.

"Who's the target?" – Gendry asked, trying to understand Jon's plan.

His brother's words didn't make any sense.  _Did the girl ask him to kill someone?_

Jon scratched the back of his neck.

"I don't know yet" – he finally said, seeing the confused look on Gendry's face – "I just know that I need to do this…" – he sighed.

Gendry didn't seem convinced but he didn't ask any more questions, instead he just rolled his eyes. His brother really had a thing for red heads.

 

* * *

 

When the helicopter finally landed, Jon helped Sansa jump out.

She looked around the surroundings, trying to understand where they were. A signboard with the word  _Portsmouth_  caught her attention.

"The jet is right over there" – Gendry said, pointing at a specific spot in the airport runway.

They started walking and Sansa took the opportunity to look at Gendry, trying to find some resemblance between him and Jon.

She noticed that Gendry was a little bit taller than Jon. His eyes were blue and, unlike Jon, he had tan skin.

The only resemblance between them was the hair, and even that wasn't quite the same. Jon's black hair was curly; Gendry's was thick and straight and shot out in all directions.

They didn't look alike, but Sansa knew from experience that just because they were brothers didn't mean they had to look alike. Arya and she didn't look alike either. They were as different as night and day.

Gendry felt her gaze upon him and turned his head, meeting her eyes. Sansa gave him a small smile.

"I'm sorry for the way I grabbed you on the beach" – Gendry said.

"It's okay. It was a life-or-death situation, so…" – Sansa said, shaking her head slightly.

Gendry noticed the way Sansa wrinkled her nose and an image of a very stubborn girl invaded his mind. He could practically hear her screaming, kicking at him and wrinkling her nose in the same way Sansa just did. His stomach fluttered.

"My brother didn't tell me your name" – he said, looking at Sansa and trying to figure it out why she seemed so familiar to him.

Before Sansa could tell him her name, her eyes landed on a man leaning against a jet.

The man's eyes were focused on a phone and Sansa could see he was frowning slightly.

She almost forgot how to breathe when she saw the way he ran a hand over his reddish-brown beard.

Unconsciously, she quickened her pace. Jon tried to reach her arm but he wasn't fast enough.

Her body moved by itself. Sansa could feel her heart beating faster with every step she took.

She was only three steps away, when the man lifted his head and locked eyes with her.

Sansa saw his eyes widening but before he could open his mouth, she launched herself at him.

She buried her face against his chest and tried to control the amount of emotions that were invading her body. She felt his arms around her torso and smiled.

"Robb" – she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S: I made a small trailer for this fanfic, if you want to watch it just check my YouTube channel (mentioned on my profile) or follow this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YI2k4Jgl0lc


	5. Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My biggest chapter so far. It has a lot of information and revelations and I really hope you like it! Enjoy!

* * *

  

 _Sometimes people don't want to hear the truth because they don't want their illusions destroyed_  ― Friedrich Nietzsche

 

* * *

 

Jon froze.

His stomach twisted and questions stormed his mind. Sansa was holding Robb like she was clinging onto him for life. Jon couldn't help but remember the way she had held him before, when they were still in the helicopter. She felt so good in his arms, so natural … and now, now as he watched Sansa in Robb's arms, he couldn't help but feel his heart ache a little.

He bit the inside of his cheek.

They looked close, very close, like they knew each other for a very long time.

Suddenly, Jon realized that he hadn't considered the possibility of Sansa being spoken for.

Jon cursed himself. Of course she was spoken for. She was beautiful and smart and funny. Of course she had a boyfriend.

 _I'm such an idiot_  – he said to himself.

He shook his head and tried to understand what was happening.

He knew Robb for a long time. They usually didn't discuss each other's love life but Robb would certainly tell him if he was dating someone … and according to Dany, he and Rhaenys had a 'thing'.

Jon clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might crack. Dany was wrong.

Sansa was Robb's girlfriend and life was a cruel joke – he realized as Robb's hand cradled the back of Sansa's head.

He should have learned by now not to wish for things out of his reach; out of his world.

Robb released Sansa from his embrace and looked at him. Jon tried to disguise his discomfort.

Robb's arm was still molded around Sansa's waist; his hand cradling her hip.

"What is my sister doing here?" – Robb asked, looking at Jon and Gendry, waiting for a response.

The world started turning again and Jon felt like a big weight had been removed from his shoulders … and chest.

He knew he shouldn't feel that way but he did. He felt relieved. Robb and Sansa were not a couple. She was his sister.

Suddenly, reality hit him.

_She was his sister._

His world stopped.

_No, no, no, no … This isn't happening. She's normal … She can't be a Stark; a Tully … She can't be one of them…_

His eyes met Sansa's and he immediately looked away.

He waited for the anger and the hate to come. He waited for his conscience to tell him that Sansa was the enemy and that he should hate her, but those feelings never came.

Deep down he knew he could never hate her. How could he? She made him want to be something more than a killer. She made him admit things that no even his family knew about. She made him want to share things with her, things he never shared with anyone.

Jon opened his mouth but no words came out of it. He was still trying to process all that was happening.

"Jon saved me" – her sweet voice invaded his ears. Robb was about to speak but Sansa interrupted him – "Wait a second… Do you know him?" – she asked, confused. Her gaze locked on her brother – "How do you know him? Why are you here? I thought you were in Berlin. Mum said –"

Robb's phone started ringing. He ignored the call and ran a frustrated hand over his face.

"Look, Sansa, can you –" – he tried to say but Gendry interrupted him.

"She knows, Robb" – he said – "She was inside the hotel when the bombs exploded. Jon saved her and then dragged her with him so they couldn't …" – he trailed off for a second, searching for the right words – "… question her" – he added, clearing his throat.

"You told her?" – Robb asked, looking directly at Jon.

"I figured it out" – Sansa said, crossing her arms over her chest – "Then he told me" – she added – "Robb, what is going on? Do you work for them?" – she asked, grabbing his left arm.

Robb ignored her and looked at his phone.

"That's why she doesn't stop calling me …" – he murmured – "You know what this looks like, right?" – Robb said, focusing his attention on Jon – "My mother is going to think that you kidnapped my sister and she's going to –" – suddenly he stopped talking and a troubled look twisted across his face – "The chip" – he finally said, expecting a reaction from Jon but his friend didn't move a muscle.

"That's how they found you" – Gendry spoke, looking at his brother but Jon remained in silence – "They weren't searching for you, they were searching for  _her_ " – he explained, emphasizing the last word.

Robb sighed. He knew that his mother was impulsive when it came to her children and, according to what Gendry said, she had already sent a patrol to get Sansa back, which meant that now she was absolutely certain that the Targaryen family was the one responsible for Walder Frey's death.

But the worst part was not that. The worst part was that Robb could already see the amount of different scenarios that his mother was picturing in her head. In her mind, Sansa was being held against her will; in her mind Sansa was being tortured and abused; in her mind Sansa was being sentenced to death.

Sansa being near the Targaryens was one of her worst nightmares. She had probably sent a patrol with instructions to kill Sansa's abductor.

"So, it's official. My mother already knows that you killed Walder Frey and that you have my sister" – Robb stated, pinching the bridge of his nose – "We need to keep moving" – he added.

"Chip? What are you talking about?" – Sansa asked, looking at the three men in front of her, confused.

"You're chipped" – Robb said, meeting her eyes.

"What?" – she asked in disbelief.

"We have to extract the chip or they'll just find us again" – Robb continued to say – "I've got this under control" – he added, trying to calm her down.

"I have a chip in me and you tell me you've got this under control?" – Sansa exclaimed, looking at him like he was mad.

"Arya reacted the same way" – Robb said with a small smile.

 _Arya?_ – Sansa thought –  _What was he talking about? Was their little sister involved too?_

She was starting to get dizzy as if her brain couldn't process all the information that Robb was throwing at her.

She pressed her hands to her temples and closed her eyes.

_Was Robb part of Jon's team? Did Arya work for them?_

She couldn't understand a single thing that was happening.

She knew that Jon belonged to an organized crime family, but Robb and Arya didn't. Their family was normal. Their family didn't kill people; didn't explode buildings; didn't do anything against the law.

Robb's words didn't make any sense. Robb being here didn't make sense at all.

He spent most of his time travelling for work. His position was one of the highest –raking executive positions in Wolf Industries and he used to travel a lot, so the Company could find good alliances outside England.

Even if Sansa was not yet working for Wolf Industries, she knew that the family company was a research and development company used for industrial purposes.

Wolf Industries was known for its important studies and researches, developing industrial machinery such as, manufacturing heavy engines, motors, pneumatic systems and large scale systems. The Company was also involved in cameras and electronics, measuring devices, surveillance equipment, computers and other electronics devices.

She remembered her mother telling her that Robb was in Berlin, trying to make new contracts and contacts.

Sansa could hear her own heart beating as her thoughts traveled and she remembered Robb's words:

_My mother already knows that you killed Walder Frey and that you have my sister._

Sansa was now more confused than ever.

_How could their mother know that she was with Jon?_

The name Walder Frey was vaguely familiar. She remembered hearing that name before, even if she didn't know who the man was.

Jon's voice invaded her mind:

_The people I killed … they worked for dangerous people. It's only a matter of time until they realize that my family was involved in the explosion._

A bad feeling inside Sansa grew stronger as she tried to put all the pieces of the puzzle together.

"I can get it out" – Robb's voice interrupted her thoughts – "You should clean that wound" – he added, looking at Jon.

Sansa looked at Jon and realized that he hadn't said a single word since they found Robb. He was also avoiding her gaze.

Before she could open her mouth and say something, Robb grabbed her arm gently and led her towards the jet.

 

* * *

 

"So, that's why she seemed so familiar. I must have seen her face in Arya's photo album" – Gendry said, remembering the photo album that Arya thought no one knew about – "She keeps saying that she's not a sentimental person and that she doesn't need anyone to take care of her but in the end … " – he trailed off, seeing the way Jon didn't seem to react to his words – "Are you alright?" – he asked, putting a hand over Jon's shoulder – "Jon…"

"I'm fine…" – Jon suddenly said – "… I just …" – he gasped, trying to find the air to keep talking – "You were right. I shouldn't have dragged her with me" – his emotions getting the best of him, a sensation to which he was totally unaccustomed.

"You didn't know who she was" – Gendry said.

Jon ignored his brother.

"If I had left her near the hotel, they would never torture her" – he continued to say – "She's Catelyn Stark's daughter. She would be safe" – he added, facing reality.

"You didn't know who she was" – Gendry stated – "You were only doing the right thing"

"The right thing" – Jon laughed. It was a laugh devoid of humor.

He remembered the last time he had done the so called  _right thing_  and the consequences of that decision.

He didn't do the right thing. Heroes did the right thing, not him. Every time he tried to do the right thing something bad happened. People died.

"Yes, the right thing, Jon" – Gendry insisted – "You were trying to protect her"

 _I'll protect you, I promise_  – he remembered his own words –  _I'll not let anything happen to you. No one will ever hurt you anymore, I promise_.

He also remembered the exact moment when he woke up and saw the way Sansa held herself; the way she flinched from his touch; the way she eyed him warily; the way she confused him for Ramsay.

_Ramsay._

Rage started to invade his body.

Sansa was Catelyn Stark's daughter. She lived in Riverrun, Liverpool.

Catelyn Stark was the CEO of Wolf Industries and the leader of the Northern Families.

Roose Bolton and Ramsay Bolton worked for Wolf Industries. After Catelyn Stark and Petyr Baelish, they were the two most powerful and influent people on the Company.

_Could Ramsay Bolton be the same Ramsay that Sansa dated? Could Ramsay Bolton be the same Ramsay that hit her, hurt her, raped her…?_

Jon's fingers tightened until his knuckles paled. His mind started to show him images of Ramsay Bolton forcing himself on her.

Jon started pacing back and forth, ignoring Gendry's presence.

All he could see was Ramsay's cold hands inflicting pain on Sansa.

Ramsay used to peel off the skin of his enemies. Who knew what other atrocities he was capable of?

Images, each one more twisted than the last, flitted through his brain, making him feel sick and furious.

_How long had Sansa suffered because of him?_

He clenched his jaw, realizing that she was still suffering because of that monster. Even away, Ramsay continued to haunt her mind. He was still stuck in her brain, in her memories.

Rage irradiated from him and he could actually hear the rushing roar of blood that filled his head.

He was going to kill Ramsay. He  _needed_ to kill Ramsay. It was the only way to keep her safe. Sansa couldn't return home while Ramsay Bolton breathed. It was not safe. Jon had promised her that he would keep her safe and he would honor that promise.

He knew that killing Ramsay wasn't going to be easy. They've tried once to kill the Bolton family and failed.

The Boltons were never alone. They had strong allies and they had money. To take down Ramsay Bolton, Jon needed to isolate him. He needed to kill the ones that protected the monster… and that was exactly what he was going to do. He was going to kill them. One by one, they would all fall.

"I need to talk with Robb" – Jon said, making his way towards the jet.

 

* * *

 

Robb guided Sansa through the private jet. He opened the bathroom door and started looking for the toolbox.

Sansa blinked her eyes twice as soon as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were puffed, and her hair was mussed.

For a split second, she didn't recognize herself, but then reality hit her. The person inside the mirror was herself. The person inside the mirror was Sansa Stark. She was twenty three years old, she had red hair, and, and, and … She didn't know what she could consider real anymore. She was starting to realize that most of the things that she considered real and true were just an illusion.

Sansa knew that her family was far from being perfect, but what family was perfect? They were once happy, but not anymore…

 _All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way_ – Tolstoy had said.

They were not a happy family and apparently they were not a normal family either.

Sansa looked at Robb. He leaned his body and Sansa saw a gun hidden in the waistband of his pants.

She started to get dizzy and swayed a bit, but caught herself on the washbasin.

Robb had a gun. Her sweet and honorable brother had a gun.

Her mouth felt dry.

"Robb" – she breathed, increasing her hold on the washbasin.

Her voice was barely a whisper but, somehow, Robb heard her. He approached her immediately.

He rested a hand on her waist while the other smoothed her hair out of her face.

"What is it? Are you alright?" – Robb asked, worry in his voice – "Are you hurt?" – he added, searching for any injury on her face.

Sansa stared up at her brother, blue meeting blue.

"Do you kill people?" – she forced the words to get out of her mouth.

Robb gulped.

"Sansa…" – he tried to say.

"Do you?" – Sansa insisted – "Tell me. I can handle it" – she added, trying to hide the trembling in her voice.

She needed to know. Deep down she already knew, but she needed to hear him saying it.

"Only bad people" – Robb finally said.

"Bad people" – Sansa repeated, taking a step back and increasing the distance between them.

She ran her fingers through her hair as Robb's words echoed in her head.

She opened her mouth but no words came out of it. Her brother killed people.

 _Bad people_  – her conscience reminded her.

Did that really matter? Did that even count as an excuse for what he did? What did that say about him? Did that make him a hero or a villain?

"Sansa, I know this is a lot to take in…" – Robb started to say, like he was hearing her thoughts – "… but I'm still me … I'm still Robb … your brother"

Sansa blinked away the pinpricks of tears welling up in her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I just … what about Wolf Industries?" – she managed to ask. She needed answers – "I thought you worked with mum …" – she added – "Does she know what you do? Does she –"

"Sansa" – Robb interrupted her, cupping her face gently in his hands – "I need to extract the chip, then we'll talk about mum"

Sansa bit her trembling lip and nodded. The idea of having a chip inside her made her shiver and a thousand more questions invaded her mind, but she managed to keep her mouth shut.

Robb opened the toolbox and saw a packet of clean bandages and doctor stuff. Sansa saw him grabbing a wand.

"It's a chip finder" – Robb explained.

He ran the wand over her left arm. After a few moments the wand beeped.

Robb put the wand away and snapped on a pair of white gloves. He took a scalpel from its wrapper.

"There isn't time to numb it" – Robb said.

His gaze met hers and Sansa nodded, preparing herself for the pain.

She could feel his warm hands on her arm; his pressure firm as he palpated the skin.

Her stomach clenched when she felt the cut. The pain was tolerable but Sansa had to bit her lower lip when she watched the blood flow.

Robb grabbed the tweezers and steadied his hand.

Sansa's teeth clenched as Robb pushed as if trying to get a sliver out. She saw something green and red slid out of her. The chip was the size of a grain of rice.

Robb flung it to the floor. He smashed his foot down hard, breaking the chip.

Sansa's arm throbbed and burned as Robb cleaned the wound. He put a small bandage over the cut and looked at his sister. Sansa's eyes were stuck on the bandage.

Robb searched for the right words and took a deep breath.

"I should have talked with you sooner … about all of this" – he sighed – "Mum wanted to tell you about the family business, but I didn't want to involve you in this war"

Sansa took her eyes off of the bandage, so she could look at her brother.

"War? What are you talking about?" – she asked, feeling nervous and, at the same time, afraid of her brother's answer.

Robb decided to start at the beginning.

"The Northern Families are an ancient group founded by some of the most powerful families of Northern England and Scotland" – he explained – "This shadow organization was founded a long time ago. Its primary objective was to fight against crime, cleaning the streets from drug trafficking and gangs, contributing to a high level of security for citizens and creating a new kind of justice; a justice without legal authority"

Sansa remained in silence, trying to understand Robb's words.

"When the Northern Families tried to expand their domain, they realized that the Midlands and Southern England were ruled by other organized families and that they were already competing with them for the best weapons and contacts" – Robb continued to explain – "The North and the South became rivals and the attacks started to be a common thing between them"

Sansa shook her head and closed her eyes for a second, feeling like what Robb had just told her was some tale and not a real story.

"Why are you telling me this?" – she said, opening her eyes – "I thought you were going to talk to me about mum. What does any of this has to do with –"

"The head office of the Northern Families is Wolf Industries" – Robb interrupted her.

Sansa felt a weight on her chest. The air felt like fire in her lungs, as if she were being burned to death from the inside out. She felt like she was being suffocated.

Her body started trembling and once again Sansa caught herself on the washbasin.

"What?" – she breathed – "No … it can't be …" – she stammered – "Our grandfather founded Wolf Industries" – she tried hard to cling to some hope – "Mum is the CEO"

"Mum is the leader of the Northern Families" – Robb said calmly, reaching for her arm but Sansa moved out of his reach.

"No … mum is not … she's not a criminal" – she said, stepping out of the bathroom. Robb followed her – "She's mum…" – Sansa stammered – "She's always saying that she wants me to join the Company…"

Sansa felt herself growing weaker. She could feel the world – her world – going darker and it became harder and harder to breathe.

Her world was coming apart. Everything she believed was a lie. Her life was a lie. Her own mother was a lie. Catelyn Stark was the leader of a shadow organization. What did that even mean? Did she hurt people?

The memory of the shooting on the beach invaded her mind and a shiver went down her spine.

Did she send those men? Did she tell them to shoot? Did she send them to kill Jon?

_Jon._

She could hear her own heart beating inside her chest as the memory of his words invaded her mind:

_I'm from London but my family is not exactly a 'typical' British family, if such a thing could exist._

Jon belonged to an organized crime family but he was from London, which meant that he didn't belong to the Northern Families. He was from the South.

He told her that he killed people – dangerous people.

He showed her his scars. He let her touch his scars. He told her about himself.

In the end he was the only one who told her the truth.

 _Did he?_ Insecurity rose in her chest.

Jon was from the South. According to Robb's story, the North and the South were at war.

Did Jon know who she was this whole time? Did he know that she was Catelyn Stark's daughter?

What if exploding the hotel was not Jon's only mission? What if his plan included getting close to her?

She had believed that Jon didn't have an ulterior motive; that he really wanted to know her; that he really enjoyed talking with her; that he cared for her.

She told him about herself, her past, her dreams ... She allowed herself to be vulnerable.

What if their time together had been a lie? What if he only saved her because that way he could use her as leverage against the Northern Families?

She didn't know what to believe anymore. Tears started to form in her eyes.

Sansa was so focused on her own thoughts that she bumped up against something hard. Unconsciously, she closed her eyes.

She felt warmth surrounding her and looked up. Her heart sped up as soon as she realized that she had bumped up against Jon's firm chest.

He took a step back, ignoring her presence.

"We need to talk" – Jon said, focusing his attention on Robb.

His friend was about to speak but Sansa cut him off, taking a step forward.

She needed answers. She needed to know the truth.

"No,  _we_  need to talk" – she said, emphasizing the word  _we_.

Jon could feel her gaze on him but refused to look back. He wanted to look back, but he couldn't. He knew that if he looked at her, he would not be able to disguise his emotions – his guilt.

Everything that he tried to prevent from happening was already happening. She had scratches and bruises all over her body, because of him. Her own brother had to cut her arm and extract a chip out of her, because of him. He had dragged her into his dark world. Deep down, he was no better than Ramsay.

"Jon!" – Sansa insisted, grabbing his arm. He felt her soft hand touching his skin and allowed his eyes to meet hers – "Did you know who I was this whole time?" – she asked, trying to disguise the trembling in her voice.

Jon looked right into her eyes. He knew that those eyes should remind him of her mother's eyes but as he looked at them, he could only see how beautiful they were. The blue in her eyes was the opposite of Catelyn Stark's eyes.

Sansa's eyes were warm and bright and pure. They were not cold. They didn't reflect anger or hate.

They looked like a summer sky, full of hope and possibility.

 _Hope and possibility_  – Jon thought –  _Not anymore_.

Sansa could be different from her mother but she was still Catelyn Starks's daughter. She was still a Stark and a Tully. He was still a Targaryen.

"If I had, I wouldn't have gone near you" – Jon finally said, taking a step back, so Sansa's hand was no longer touching his arm.

As soon as the words left his mouth he knew it was the wrong answer.

He was a master of control, but somehow, with her, his ability to disguise his emotions and think clear ceased to exist.

Sansa remained in silence, looking at him.

The sight of her sad eyes was like a knife through his heart.

He didn't know what he was trying to accomplish by saying those words. He should have simply said  _no_.

Before he could open his mouth and apologize for his harsh words, Sansa turned around and locked herself in the bathroom.

Jon closed his eyes and sighed. He really was terrible with words.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Robb looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"Did something happen between you two while you were on the island?" – he asked.

It took Jon a moment to understand Robb's words.

"What? No…" – he quickly said, feeling his cheeks flush.

Robb narrowed his eyes. He didn't seem convinced.

"I know you have a thing for red heads but my sister – "

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" – Jon exclaimed, running a frustrated hand over his face.

"But my sister is not Ygritte" – Robb continued to say, ignoring Jon's question – "She might have the same hair color but Sansa is good" – he explained – "She's incapable of hurting someone … it's not in her nature" – he sighed – "That's why I asked my mother not to involve her in the family business"

Jon bit the inside of his cheek. Guilt surrounded him to the point of suffocating.

"I didn't want to involve her, Robb" – Jon managed to say – "I didn't know who she was"

"I know, I know, but that doesn't change the fact that now she  _is_  involved" – Robb said. The two friends remained in silence for a few seconds – "We need a cover story" – Robb broke the silence, trying to figure it out what to do next – "Once Sansa arrives in Riverrun, my mother is going to start throwing questions at her. We need to –"

"Robb!" – Jon interrupted his friend – "Sansa can't return to Riverrun"

"What do you mean she can't return to Riverrun?" – Robb asked, glaring at Jon – "Sansa is not a threat! She doesn't know anything!" – he said, raising his voice more than he intended – "You can't keep her hostage"

"She's not a hostage" – Jon said, running a hand through his hair, exasperation clear on his voice – "I'm just trying to protect her" – he added.

"Protect her?" – Robb asked, confused – "Protect her from whom?" – he insisted.

Jon closed his eyes for a moment and forced the words to get out of his mouth.

"Do you know if Ramsay Bolton and your sister …" – he was incapable of finishing his sentence.

The mere thought of Robb confirming his suspicions made him feel sick. His heart thundered in his chest.

"Why are you asking me this?" – Robb asked. His body tensed as he tried to understand Jon's question – "What did that piece of shit do to my sister?" – he insisted.

The tone of Robb's voice was all the confirmation Jon needed.

"So, it's really him…" – Jon murmured, feeling his blood run cold – "They were together" – he added.

The different scenarios that he had pictured of Ramsay inflicting pain on Sansa suddenly became real. The tension made Jon gasp for breath.

"For a year, I think" – Robb said, remembering the moment he had found out about Sansa and Ramsay – "I was in South America dealing with the Colombians when that happened, otherwise I would never let Sansa get that close to that monster" – he explained – "When I found out about them, they were no longer together"

Robb continued to talk but Jon barely heard him. He could feel the veins popping out on his temples and the blood rushing to his head. Unconsciously, he turned his body and started walking, his feet moved by itself. He was slowly losing his human side and embracing the dragon that lived within in.

"An year…" – he breathed.

"Jon! What did he do to my sister?" – Robb suddenly asked, grabbing his arm, preventing his friend from moving.

He immediately noticed how Jon's eyes darkened as he looked at him. He looked like he was ready to cause serious pain on someone (someone bad, with a twisted mind; someone who enjoyed inflicting pain on others).

Robb felt a lump in his throat.

He knew that Ramsay dated his sister, but Sansa was the daughter of the leader of the Northern Families. Ramsay wouldn't dare to hurt her; he wouldn't dare to lay a hand on her, right?

The look on Jon's face told him that he was wrong.

Robb's stomach twisted. He clenched his fists and his knuckles cracked. His deep blue eyes darkened.

His chest had never felt this tight and all his control was lost in a wave of pure anger.

Robb punched the closest seat. He couldn't stand the thought of Ramsay Bolton hurting his sister.

Sansa was good and kind and so full of light. How could that monster dare to hurt her?

He should have prevented that from happening. He should have been more present.

He kept kicking the seat, feeling guiltier than ever.

He was her brother. He should have protected her.

He felt a sharp pain in his right hand and stopped hitting the chair, focusing his attention on Jon again.

"How do you know that? Did she tell you?" – he asked, not even trying to disguise the amount of emotions that were invading his body. Jon remained in silence, not wanting to invade Sansa's privacy – "She never told me… why didn't she tell me?" – Robb muttered, before taking a deep breath – "I'm going to kill him" – he stated.

"No, Robb,  _I'm_  going to kill him" – Jon corrected him.

"She's my sister! She's my responsibility!" – he roared.

"You can't blow your cover!" – Jon shot back – "We need to stay one step ahead of them. You said it yourself that the Boltons are trying to take control of the Company and the Organization. This time we can't fail" – he continued to say in a more controlled voice – "We need to isolate them" – he explained.

"If my mother finds out about what he did to Sansa –"

"She'll do something reckless and they will take that opportunity to take her down" – Jon cut him off – "She can't know"

Robb sighed, running a frustrated hand over his face.

"So what do we do? What do I say to her?" – he asked, looking at his friend.

"You'll have to lie to her. Tell her that Sansa is our hostage and if she ever wants to see her again, she'll have to use her power in the Organization and banish the Boltons" – Jon said – "Tell her to erase all her connections with Ramsay Bolton"

"The Northerners will never agree to that" – Robb stated – "My mother may be their leader, but she can't make a decision like that all by herself" – he explained – "The Boltons are high ranking members of the Company. Wolf Industries depends on their money and contacts. They're a very influent family"

"I know. I don't expect them to agree with these conditions. I'm just trying to buy us some time" – Jon said – "While they work on a plan to save your sister, we'll have the time we need to isolate Ramsay. We'll have the time we need to eliminate the closest people to the Boltons" – he continued to say – "I want Ramsay to feel trapped, desperate and paranoid before I kill him"

Robb nodded, understanding Jon's plan.

"I wish my mother could open her eyes and see that she's at war with the wrong people" – he sighed – "She's surrounded by monsters and she doesn't even realize it" – Robb shook his head – "Why can't she stop looking at your family as the enemy?"

"She'll always see me as the enemy" – Jon said softly.

As soon as his words left his mouth, the bathroom door opened, showing a distressed Sansa. Jon's eyes met hers but Sansa quickly looked away.

"I'm going to talk with her" – Robb said, leaving a conflicted Jon behind.

 

* * *

 

Sansa sat down on the first chair available and looked out the window. She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, hugging her own body. She took a deep breath and tried to erase Jon's words from her mind … and Robb's.

One moment she was just a normal girl with an ordinary life and the next she was the daughter of the leader of some group who undertook law enforcement without legal authority. She belonged to an organized crime family. The people she admired and loved were liars and criminals. They did bad things. They hurt people.

Sansa felt completely lost, without roots.

She was twenty three. How could she have lived her entire life without knowing the truth?

Her lungs hurt as the image of her father invaded her mind.

Sansa remembered all the times she sat on her father's desk while he worked. She remembered the way he used to frown as he looked at the amount of paper sheets scattered on the desk. She remembered the drawings she used to offer him just to make him smile; just to erase that tired expression from his face… and all that time he was probably working on some plan to hurt his rivals, to kill people.

She caught her ragged breath.

Her memories were a lie. Her life was a lie. The little girl who used to follow her father around the house was not real.

Sansa felt a sharp pain in her chest, as if she had been stabbed.

Wolf Industries was run primarily by the Stark family. It was founded by her grandfather and then taken over by her father – Ned Stark. After his death, her mother – Catelyn Stark – became the CEO.

It all seemed pretty normal to her, until now. Now it seemed twisted and wrong.

Sansa shivered.

Her mother was always telling her to join the Company. Did she really expect her to be okay with all the violence and corruption? Did she really expect her to accept the job after knowing the truth? How could her own mother ask her that?

Did Robb feel the same? Her brother was now a mystery to her.

She tried to understand all that was happening, but as much as she tried, she couldn't. It was like there were not enough pieces to complete the puzzle.

How could Robb work for Wolf Industries and for Jon's family as well?

It didn't make any sense. She felt she was missing something … and Arya. Robb had mentioned Arya which meant that their little sister knew the truth.

Sansa did her best to breathe normally but her emotions kept getting the best of her.

"How are you feeling?" – a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

She turned her head and saw Robb sat next to her.

"I'm fine" – she lied.

Sansa pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on top of her knees, trying to disguise her discomfort.

"You're lying" – Robb said softly.

"It runs in the family" – Sansa mumbled, looking out the window.

"Sansa – " – Robb tried to say but Sansa was faster.

"Why didn't you tell me truth? Why did you tell Arya and not me?" – she asked, looking at her brother – "Did you think I couldn't handle it?"

Sansa couldn't help but feel useless and powerless.

Why did Arya know about everything and she didn't? Why did Robb choose Arya and not her? Did he think she was weaker than Arya? Did he think she would turn her back on him?

Why didn't he trust her?

"It has nothing to do with that" – Robb started to explain. He took a deep breath – "When dad died… Arya went off the rails. She became bitter and rebellious. She was angry all the time"

"I remember" – Sansa said, trying to disguise the trembling in her voice.

"I thought it was just a phase she was going through, but it only became worse" – Robb sighed – "She needed some direction; a purpose. She already had the training. Telling her the truth was the only way I found to keep an eye on her" – he explained – "And I also needed help. Lying to our family for so long is exhausting"

Suddenly, the missing piece of the puzzle appeared right in front of Sansa's eyes.

"You're spying on mum" – she blurted.

"I'm spying on people around mum for her own protection" – Robb corrected her.

"So, every time you are away …" – Sansa started to say.

"I'm working with the Targaryens" – Robb completed.

"Targaryens?" – Sansa asked, confused.

"Jon's family" – Robb said – "Also known as mum's biggest enemy"

"If they are the enemy why are you working with them?" – Sansa asked.

"Because I'm trying to end this war" – Robb said with a small smile – "And because they are not bad people" – he added.

Sansa shivered. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to disguise her discomfort.

If the Targaryens were not bad people that meant that the people her mother worked with were; that meant that her mother was the bad guy… and that was why Robb lied to her; that was why Robb pretended to work with her.

Sansa felt a weight on her chest as Jon's words invaded her mind again:  _The people I killed … they worked for dangerous people._

He was talking about the Northern Families. He was talking about her mother.

"I'm not saying that mum is a bad person, Sansa" – Robb said gently, trying to calm her down –"I'm just saying that she's not the person you think she is" – he explained – "She has changed since dad died. She became cold and a little paranoid … that's why she does what she does; that's why she chipped you"

"You destroyed my chip" – Sansa said, after taking a deep breath – "What about Arya's?" – she asked.

"I removed her chip but we continue to use it, otherwise mum would find out the truth. When Arya is not home, one of our men uses it" – Robb said – "Right now, mum thinks she's in Thailand learning Muay Thai, so we had to send one of our men there"

"You could just change the geolocation coordinates" – Sansa stated – "There are currently two popular methods to locate a chip device: through computing GPS coordinates using satellites information, or through Wi-Fi access point and tower identifiers. After either of these methods, the chip submits the latitude and longitude coordinates to the application server, which then uses this data directly. At this last step you can insert fraudulent coordinates, creating a fake physical presence. You just need to –"

"Wow, slow down, genius" – Robb laughed – "Not all of us have a degree in Computational Science and Engineering" – he added – "You do know that when you are on a tech rant it's like someone talking Greek, right?"

"Sorry, I got carried away" – Sansa smiled.

Robb smiled back. He had missed his sister. He had missed her babbling and her beautiful smile.

His sister had a good heart.

Suddenly, his brain started to show him images of Ramsay Bolton hurting Sansa and he tensed. His fists clenched. He'd always hated the man but now his anger towards him escalated to a whole new level.

"Can I ask you something?" – he asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.

"About GPS realignment?" – Sansa teased.

"No, not that" – Robb tried to smile, but his voice cracked. He remained in silence for a few seconds, trying to control his emotions – "Why didn't you tell me about Ramsay?" – he finally asked.

Sansa's smile disappeared immediately from her face. Robb hated himself for bringing up the subject but he needed to know.

"What do you mean?" – Sansa asked, feeling her heart beating against her ribcage as images of Ramsay invaded her mind.

Robb noticed the way she was wringing her hands nervously. He took one in his, concern etched across his face.

"I know what he did to you" – he stated.

Technically he didn't know. Jon didn't tell him, but his look spoke volumes.

Sansa shivered. There was only one way Robb could know about what Ramsay did to her. There was only one person who knew about what happened. Sansa had only told him a fraction of what had happened, but something inside her told her that Jon quickly figured it out that Ramsay had done more to her than just break her wrist.

"What did Jon tell you?" – she managed to ask.

"He didn't tell me anything" – Robb said – "He didn't have to. I know Jon for a long time and his look was all the answer I needed" – he explained – "Why didn't you tell me?" – he asked softly.

Sansa bit her trembling lip as tears started to form in her eyes. She felt like she was suffocating.

"I don't know … I just … I got scared and ashamed and …" – Sansa stammered, feeling her whole body shaking – "And at first I thought it was just an accident … that it wouldn't happen again and he apologized and … " – the words started to stumble out of her mouth, practically on their own –"… and he works with mum and she likes him and he said no one would believe me and …"

Robb pulled her into his arms. Sansa's chest was rising and falling so fast, he worried she was hyperventilating. He cradled the back of her head. The moment he pressed her cheek into his chest, he heard her sniffle a little.

Robb struggled to keep the bile down, realizing the terror his sister had to endure because of Ramsay Bolton. The man needed to die.

"I'm sorry" – she sobbed, lifting her head so she could look at him.

"You have nothing to be sorry for" – Robb said, his thumb wiping away a stray tear from her face – "I just wish you had told me sooner. That guy is a monster. I'll make sure he pays for everything he did to you"

Sansa tensed.

"Robb …" – she gasped – "You don't need to do anything…"

"Of course I do. He doesn't deserve to be alive" – Robb immediately said.

"I, I … I don't want you to do anything …" – Sansa stammered – "Please Robb… he's dangerous… just let it go"

Panic started to rise in her chest; her heart beat erratically.

Ramsay was dangerous. He could hurt Robb. He could hurt Robb  _because of her_.

She remembered the broken ribs, the blood…

She remembered his fists and the pain whenever he got mad. He used to hit her stomach, her face…

She remembered the way he lunged at her; the way he used to twist her arm; the way he used to leave her on the floor full of bruises…

She couldn't let that happen with Robb.

"Sansa, I need you to trust me on this" – Robb interrupted her thoughts, cupping her face – "I'm not going to do anything stupid. That's not how we work" – he added, caressing her cheek – "I'll talk to mum and –"

"No, no, you can't tell mum" – Sansa said, trembling – "I don't want her to know. She can't know, please…"

"I know, I know, I'm not going to tell her" – Robb said, trying to calm her down – "I'm just going to talk to her and convince her to banish the Boltons from the Company and the Organization" – he explained, seeing the way Sansa's tension disappeared from her face – "Meanwhile, you can't go home. Not until this is over" – he added.

Sansa nodded. The last thing she wanted was to return home. She didn't know if she would ever want to return home again. The places she once called home were a lie. Winterfell and Riverrun were a lie and the girl who lived there was a ghost.

She didn't have a home anymore. She never did.

"Where are we going?" – she asked, leaning her head on Robb's shoulder.

"Valyria, London" – he stated and Sansa's eyes widened.

_London._

She'd always wanted to go to London and see its museums and galleries … but her mother was always against it. She kept saying London was a dangerous city. Now she knew why…

"Time to meet the rest of the dragons, sis" – Robb said, kissing the top of her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope this chapter answered some of your questions (not all because that would be no fun, hahaha).  
> Please share your thoughts with me! I love hearing your theories (:


	6. Dragons

* * *

 

 _But it is one thing to read about dragons and another to meet them_  ― Ursula K. Le Guin

 

* * *

  

 _Dragons_.

For a split second, Sansa thought she had misunderstood Robb's words, but when her brother started to tell her about the organized crime families in England she realized that she  _really_  was going to meet dragons.

According to Robb, the Targaryen family's sigil was a three-headed red dragon on a black background, and their words were  _Fire and Blood._ They were known as  _The Dragons_ , and they were one of the most notable and powerful crime families in England.

Sansa tried to make a mental list of all the families and sigils.

Bear, moose, falcon, trout, raven, eagle, lion, stag, squid,  _wolf_ …

Words from the past invaded her mind:

_Why must all the stories be about wolves? Why can't they be about dragons?_

No wonder her father's stories were all about wolves, and not dragons.

The Starks were wolves. The Targaryens were dragons.

The Starks were from the North. The Targaryens were from the South.

The North and the South were enemies, which meant that wolves and dragons were enemies.

Loving dragons was considered a sin, even if you were just a little girl, oblivious to the dark world you lived in.

Sansa never thought much about her family company's name, but now it made sense; it all made sense: her father's bed time stories about wolves, the way his eyes seemed to get darker whenever she talked about dragons, his sad smile every time she showed him a drawing of a dragon…. It all made sense now.

She wished she could open her sketchbook and start drawing all the Houses sigils and mottos, but she couldn't. The sketchbook has been turned into ashes.

Sun, rose, castle, fist, tree, battle-axe, chains,  _a red flayed man_ …

She felt a sharp pain in her wrist as a disturbed memory invaded her mind.

Ramsay didn't like when she drew dragons. She could still remember the way he hurt her wrist after finding a sketch of a dragon in her sketchbook.

She had literally drawn the enemy, even if she didn't know that at the time.

As Robb continued to talk, Sansa felt like she was having a History lesson, and that she was discovering a whole different world. It was like  _her_  world was not real.

She couldn't help but think that the people she knew and loved had decided to wear masks around her, and that she was just now discovering their true faces. It was like opening you favorite book and didn't recognize the characters in it. It was tragic and heartbreaking.

Sansa sighed deeply, and without realizing quite how it was happening, she fell asleep, leaving the pain of the day's events behind.

She was exhausted and hurt and broken.

When she opened her eyes, she realized that she was no longer in the jet. Her head was still resting on Robb's shoulder, but they were now inside of a car.

She moved her head and saw Jon looking at her through the rear-view mirror. When their eyes met, he quickly looked away.

Sansa bit her lower lip and tried not to think about Jon or the fact that, from now on, he would look at her like they were sworn enemies.

She felt a sharp pain in her chest. Now that Jon knew who she really was – who her family was – he would no longer look at her the same way. He probably thought less of her already.

 _Life really was a cruel joke_  – Sansa thought –  _Ramsay got near her because of her family name. Jon was pushing her away because of her family name._

She wanted to open the car door and scream, but instead of doing that she just looked out the window, blinking back tears.

A few minutes later, a house came into view.

The heavy iron gates swung soundlessly open and they drove down a tree lined drive.

Her eyes widened when she saw that the house was actually a mansion. It looked like a real palace.

As soon as Jon parked, Sansa immediately got out of the car. Her body moved by itself. The place looked like a dream, a beautiful dream.

The property spanned as far as she could see in every direction. The grass was neat and green.

As she looked at her surroundings, Sansa couldn't help but think about Winterfell – her childhood home.

She remembered the gray house and its rustic charm. Outside there was a porch with swing chairs and behind the house there was only wood for miles and a serene and peaceful lake. There were no other properties. The only noises were the birds chirping and the leaves rustling.

She missed her childhood house. After her father's death, the family abandoned the house and moved to Riverrun, Liverpool.

Sansa never returned to Winterfell. She didn't know if the house still existed.

The mansion in front of her was different from her childhood home.

The Targaryen mansion was big and white; it was surrounded by floral gardens. Winterfell was darker and it was surrounded by high trees.

Sansa shook her head and tried not to think about the past.

She focused her attention on a large rectangular pool where prized water lilies floated colorful upon the surface of the clear blue waters. It reminded her of a Monet's painting.

She noticed a beautiful carved fountain right in front of the house. Her lips parted in a silent  _wow_  when she saw that the fountain was a tall figure of a dragon.

Sansa took her eyes off of the dragon and saw the tall marble columns that neatly lined the mansion and the porticos on the upper floors.

Robb put a hand over her shoulder and Sansa returned to reality.

They walked towards the massive entrance doors carved in bronze. The doors before them drew open at the hands of two guards posted there.

Her pulse hummed beneath her skin as she realized that she was about to enter into the unknown.

She was far away from her world. The beautiful mansion was a mystery to her and, according to Robb, the people who lived in it were dragons.

 _Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it_  – people used to say.

If she wasn't so nervous, she would laugh. She spent all of her life dreaming about dragons; wishing for them to be real, so she could see them with her own eyes … and now her wish was about to come true.

Sansa tried to control her breathing and her thoughts as she meekly followed Robb, Gendry and Jon down a long marble corridor. They walked into a spacious and beautiful living room and Sansa immediately noticed two people sat on expensive looking sofas.

She felt her cheeks flush as soon as the two strangers looked in her direction.

She wanted nothing more than to hide herself in a big  _big_  hole. She looked like the exact opposite of the people in the room. Her hair was matted; her clothes were soiled; her face and arms had multiple scratches – it was definitely not her best look.

The beautiful woman with black hair eyed her suspiciously. After a few seconds, the young woman turned her attention to Robb. Before he could open his mouth, she jumped off of the couch and ran towards Gendry and Jon to hug them.

Sansa watched as a smile emerged on Jon's face when the young woman ruffled Gendry's hair affectionately.

The three of them started to talk. Sansa shivered when Gendry and the young woman looked in her direction.

Robb rubbed Sansa's arm with a soothing caress.

She heard footsteps approaching and turned her head, focusing her attention on the only blonde man in the room. His indigo eyes glittered, never once wavering from her.

"This is Sansa" – Robb spoke, his arm protectively encircling her slim waist – "She's my sister"

"Another Stark" – the man smiled, taking Sansa's hand. He raised her hand to his lips, ignoring Robb's frown – "A redhead" – he added; his gaze lingering on Jon.

Sansa followed his gaze, confused.

Jon clenched his jaw and walked out of the room, trying to ignore his brother's innuendo.

"I'm Aegon" – the man spoke again, catching Sansa's attention.

"Nice to meet you" – Sansa said.

"The pleasure is all mine" – Aegon's mouth rose in a flirty smile.

Sansa felt her cheeks flame.

"Ignore my brother, we all do. For your sake, you better learn to do the same thing" – the young woman with long black hair said, pushing Aegon aside – "I'm Rhaenys" – she added and Sansa noticed that she was no longer looking at her with distrust – "You have no idea how nice it is to have another woman to talk to. This house has enough men rolling around it in" – she added, making Sansa smile – "Robb" – Rhaenys greeted, looking at him and then back to Sansa.

"Rhae" – Robb said softly.

"My brothers told me about what happened" – Rhaenys said, ignoring Robb – "Dinner is almost ready but after that you can take a shower and change into some clean clothes; you and I are approximately the same size, so I'll lend you some of mine" – she explained.

"Thanks" – Sansa said. She looked at her own hands, noticing the dirt under her nails – "Can I use the bathroom, please?" – she asked.

"Of course" – Rhaenys said – "That door there" – she added, pointing with her hand to the door across the room.

 

* * *

 

The door of the study was half opened and Jon could practically see his father with his arms behind his back, standing by a window, staring out at the gardens.

Jon took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

Rhaegar's blonde hair shone as if the sun itself lived within him, even in the dying sunlight.

"Father" – Jon said, moving towards him.

The men hugged, like they always did every time they returned from their missions.

When Jon met his dark indigo eyes, he knew that he was expecting some answers.

Jon remembered the moment he stepped out of the car and saw his father's figure looking out the window of his study; his gaze following their every move; his eyes focused on Sansa. He had seen her and there was no way Jon could avoid the subject.

"I… she…" – he trailed off, missing the tiniest of a smile on his father's face – "She is –"

"A Stark" – Rhaegar completed.

Jon narrowed his eyes, confused.

"How do you know that?" – he managed to ask.

"Robb's behavior" – Rhaegar started to explain, remembering the way Robb led the girl towards the door entrance; the protective hand over her shoulder – "And she's the spitting image of Catelyn Stark" – he added – "You disagree?" – he asked, watching his son pacing around the room.

Jon's body came to a halt. The thought hadn't crossed his mind. He couldn't see the resemblance between Catelyn Stark and Sansa.

"She doesn't know anything about the family business" – he said, not answering his father's question.

Rhaegar approached his desk and sat on his chair. He looked at the maps and photos spread out in front of him and sighed.

"What happened?" – he asked, looking up at Jon – "How did you meet her? Did she approach you?"

 _No, I did_ – he said to himself, remembering the first time he had seen her.

He remembered the braid that draped elegantly over her shoulder. He remembered the way she chewed the end of her pencil. He remembered the exact moment when one of her drawings fell to the floor. He remembered the first time their eyes met and the confused look on her face, before he handed her the sketch.

Jon cleared his throat.

"I saw her entering in the hotel right after I triggered the bombs" – he said, not wanting to reveal the rest of the information – "I couldn't let her die"

"You know the family words" – Rhaegar reminded him – "You think you met a Northerner by accident?"

"You of all people shouldn't find that hard to believe" – Jon said with more roughness than he intended.

Silence invaded the room.

Rhaegar closed his eyes for a moment and the image of a beautiful woman with gray eyes and raven hair invaded his mind.

His heart ached.

"Why did you bring her here, Jon?" – he sighed.

"She can't return home. It's not safe" – Jon said.

"Her mother is the leader of the Northern Families. Keeping her hostage will be considered an act of war" – Rhaegar said, ignoring Jon's frown –"We're Catelyn Stark's main enemy. We're already taking too many risks with Robb and Arya, and you decide to bring another Stark to our home without consulting me first?"

Jon clenched his jaw. It was like his father was purposely not listening to him.

Why couldn't he understand that Sansa was not a hostage? Why couldn't he understand that he was just trying to keep her safe? Why couldn't he understand that he was just trying to do the right thing? He of all people should be able to understand that.

"She's not a hostage!" – Jon blurted, before taking a deep breath – "I just … I need her to stay away from Liverpool, and this is the safest place for her" – he said in a more controlled voice.

"You know our words" – Rhaegar insisted.

Jon ran a frustrated hand over his face. Of course he knew the words.

_Fire and Blood. Fire and Blood. Fire and Blood._

How could he forget them? Everyone kept reminding him of the bloody family words. Aegon, Rhaenys, Daenerys, even Gendry.

He had heard the words echoing in his head when he ran towards the hotel and saved Sansa.

He knew that the Targaryens only risked their lives for one thing: family. That was what the words meant: family above all.

Jon knew that. He had heard those words his entire life. The words prevented them from making irrational and impulsive decisions.

Only the blood of a dragon mattered. Only the blood of a dragon justified risking the operation's security and their lives.

Jon had ignored the words; the family's code. He had saved Sansa and he wanted to keep saving her.

"I can't let her go home, knowing that Ramsay Bolton is still alive!" – he said, raising his voice more than he intended to – "It's not safe" – he repeated.

Rhaegar shook his head.

"What does Ramsay Bolton has to do with any of this?" – he asked, confused. His son's words didn't make any sense.

"They have a history" – Jon said, not wanting to elaborate.

"Son…" – Rhaegar started to say.

 _If the girl had been involved with one of the highest- ranking member of the Northern Families, there was no way she couldn't know about the family business_ – he thought.

"A bad history, father" – Jon interrupted him, erasing all the different scenarios that Rhaegar was picturing in his head – "I don't want her to be a collateral damage" – he added.

"Are you sure she doesn't know anything?" – Rhaegar asked, looking right into his son's eyes – "Anything at all?" – he insisted and Jon immediately knew what his father was referring to.

His body tensed as Sansa's words invaded his mind.

_I used to spend hours drawing in his office while he worked._

His chest had never felt this tight.

Jon felt like he was suffocating.

_He died in a car accident when I was twelve._

He stared down at his hands. They were shaking.

His heart thundered in his chest. The situation was worse than he anticipated.

He turned his body, keeping his back to his father, so he could disguise his distress.

He felt like the walls were closing in on him.

A spasm hit him and he clenched his jaw. He felt like the first times he'd had the nightmare; he'd woken up and vomited. Jon was glad he had not eaten for hours.

He tried to control his breathing. Slowly, the beating in his chest returned to normal.

"I'm sure" – Jon's mouth felt dry – "Sansa doesn't know" – he added softly, a painful sadness in his voice.

 

* * *

 

When Sansa returned to the living room, her brother was hugging a man. She tried not to disturb the moment, but as soon as she stepped into the room all eyes were on her.

She hated the attention. It made her feel uncomfortable and small. Her discomfort increased when she noticed that Jon was still avoiding looking at her.

Before she could take another step forward, the blonde man walked towards her.

Sansa couldn't help but noticed the resemblance between him and Aegon. Jon's brother looked like a younger version of the man in front of her.

"You must be Sansa" – the man spoke, extending his hand – "Rhaegar Targaryen" – he added.

Sansa nodded.

"Thank you for having me" – she said, taking his hand.

Rhaegar offered her a warm smile as he looked right into her eyes.

Sansa felt like he was searching for something. She thought she could see some pain reflected in his eyes.

"You must be starving" – he said, releasing her hand – "Let's eat, shall we?" – he added, turning his attention back to the rest of the people in the room.

Robb approached Sansa. He put his arm over her shoulders and they walked towards the dining room.

Rhaegar took his seat at the head of the table. He motioned for Sansa to seat at his side. Aegon sat at his left side; Rhaenys sat next to her brother and Gendry sat next to Rhaenys.

Robb took the seat next to Sansa.

Jon sat next to Robb, as far away as possible from Sansa and her gaze. He couldn't look at her, not without feeling the guilt hanging over him like a leaden cloud.

Jon's heart felt as heavy as it had the night he made his first victim. He couldn't help but think that he was being punished for all his crimes. Killing bad people didn't make him a good person; it only made him dark.

He was an idiot for thinking that maybe he could be something more than a killer; that maybe there was a chance for him to redeem himself and have a normal life away from all the blood.

Meeting Sansa was like a breath of fresh air. It was like opening a locked door and discovering a new world – a world with Sansa in it… but now, now it was all ruined.

He had ruined everything long before he met her.

It was only a matter of time until she started to see who he really was.

It was only a matter of time until she started to hate him.

"So, Sansa" – Aegon spoke, looking at the girl in front of him – "How was it like being on a mission with Jon?" – he asked with a mischievous smile – "Just so you know, exploding buildings isn't exactly his  _modus operandi_. He prefers to –"

Rhaenys shoved her elbow into his side, before her brother could finish his sentence.

"Have you ever been in London, Sansa?" – she asked.

"No, I've always wanted to but…" – she hesitated, remembering her mother's words _: London is a dangerous city_  – "but I never had the chance" – she finally said.

"Well, you're here now" – Rhaenys smiled – "I can give you a tour if you like, and Daenerys knows the best clubs in London" – she continued to say, seeing the way Sansa's eyes sparkled in delight.

"I don't remember the last time I entered in a club" – Sansa confessed.

"Just wait until Dany is back" – Rhaenys said – "We can go clubbing, just the three of us" – she added, glaring at Aegon, making sure that he understood the meaning of the word  _three_.

"Maybe we should wait a few more days" – Robb spoke – "My mother will be on high alert. She'll probably send some men to London, so we need to be cautious"

"Robb is right" – Gendry agreed.

"I'll buy you a new sketchbook, so you can distract yourself" – Robb said, winking affectionately at Sansa.

Rhaegar, who had been silent, spoke:

"Sketchbook?" – he asked, intrigued.

"Sansa is a very talented artist" – Robb said, proud of his sister.

"It's just a hobby" – Sansa quickly said.

"It's not just a hobby" – Robb insisted – "It's your dream"

"Robb –" – Sansa tried to say, starting to feel embarrassed by her brother's words.

"You've always wanted to be a painter, Sansa" – Robb interrupted her.

 _I've always wanted to be a painter_  – Jon remembered Sansa's words.

Robb was right. She really was a very talented artist. Her sketch of a dragon was beautiful.

Jon bit his lower lip, preventing the words from leaving his mouth.

"My Lyanna always wanted to be a painter" – Rhaegar spoke.

Sansa looked at him, confused, but he looked as if he was lost in a distant memory.

Everybody at the table tensed, especially Jon.

Rhaegar never talked about Lyanna.

Jon asked him for as long as he could remember but he never told him anything. She was dead. It was all he needed to know. After some time, Jon stopped asking questions and started a secret research.

"Jon's mother" – Robb whispered into Sansa's ear.

Before she could focus her attention on him, Rhaegar spoke again:

"She loved to draw" – he said – "She wanted to study art, but your grandfather never approved. She taught herself to draw and to paint from books" – he continued to say; his voice sad – "She bought as many art books as she could"

Sansa could hear the pain in his voice.

Rhaegar's phone started ringing and he excused himself from the table, walking to the hallway to talk.

As soon as Rhaegar steeped out of the room, Sansa turned her attention to her brother.

"My … our grandfather?" – she asked, looking at Robb – "I, I don't understand…" – she stammered.

"Lyanna was our father's sister" – Robb explained.

Sansa's eyes widened.

"Adoptive sister" – Aegon corrected him – "So whatever happened between you and my little brother on the island is not considered incest"

"Aegon!" – Rhaenys protested.

Gendry rested his head on the table, already anticipating Jon's reaction.

"What? We're all dying to know if something happened" – Aegon continued to say – "She has red hair" – he stated, arching an eyebrow.

Jon pushed back his chair before standing up and leaving the room.

"Interesting" – Aegon commented, not even trying to disguise the amusement in his voice.

The food arrived in front of them and Sansa silently released the air trapped in her lungs.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, Rhaenys volunteered to show Sansa her room. Rhaenys could feel the weight of Robb's gaze on her as they walked up the grand staircase.

She guided them down a succession of identical-looking corridors, talking as they walked.

Rhaenys pointed to one of the doors.

"That one is mine" – she said and Sansa nodded – "That one over there is Aegon's and the one on the left is Gendry's" – she added, pointing with her hand to the doors – "Dany's room is this one over here" – she continued to say – "Jon's" – she tapped on the door and Sansa felt her heart beat faster.

Rhaenys continued to walk and opened a door on the far end of the corridor, leading to the guest room.

The walls were painted a pale yellow and there was a king size bed with a headboard and matching nightstands in the center of the room. The large bed was definitely the focal point of the room.

There was an antique-looking wooden desk in the end of the room.

Sansa looked to her right and saw large French doors that led to a private balcony with a nice view.

"I'll get you some clothes" – Rhaenys spoke, before leaving the room.

Robb leaned against a wardrobe and Sansa sat on the bed.

"This used to be Arya's room during the first weeks after she joined the team" – Robb said – "I'll call her and ask her if she can come and visit you while I'm away" – he added.

"You're leaving?" – Sansa asked, not even trying to disguise her jitters – "I thought you were staying here"

"I have a flat in the East End of London" – Robb said, seating down next to her – "I can't risk mum or any other person from the Northern Families to find out where they live" – he explained – "Besides, I need to go to Riverrun and deal with mum. I'll bring you some clothes from home"

"What are you going to say to her?" – Sansa asked.

"That the Targaryens are keeping you hostage" – Robb said.

"Do you think she will believe it?" – she asked again.

"She will" – Robb stated.

A knock on the door caught their attention. Rhaenys entered in the room, carrying a pile of clothes.

Sansa smiled as she looked at the clothes. They were beautiful. Rhaenys had good taste.

"Thank you" – Sansa said.

"You're welcome" – Rhaenys smiled – "I need to look over some files, so I'll be in my room, but if you need anything just knock on my door" – she said, before walking towards the door.

Robb watched Rhaenys leaving the room and stood up.

"You're going to be fine, Sansa" – he said, caressing her cheek – "I have to go now" – he added.

Sansa bit her lower lip and nodded.

Robb kissed the top of her head and walked towards the door.

Suddenly, a question cropped up in Sansa's mind.

"Robb" – she said, making him stop walking and look at her – "How did you meet Jon?" – she asked.

A small and sad smile appeared on her brother's face.

"I saved his life" – he said, before leaving the room.

 

* * *

 

Rhaenys was about to reach the door knob of her room when a voice stopped her.

"Rhae" – Robb said and she closed her eyes, trying to control the amount of emotions that were invading her body.

She turned her body and faced him.

"I have a lot of paperwork to do, Robb" – she stated, reaching the door knob.

Robb grabbed her hand, preventing her from opening the door.

"You've been avoiding me" – he said.

Rhaenys tried to disguise her discomfort with a scowl.

"No, I haven't" – she retorted – "I have been busy"

"You've been avoiding me since our last mission" – Robb insisted – "Why?" – he asked.

Rhaenys moved her body, so her hand was no longer touching his.

"I don't want to talk, Robb!" – she said; exasperation clear on her voice – "I don't want to talk and I don't want to hear what you have to say, or flirt with you anymore, or …" – she let out a frustrated sigh – "It was just sex. Don't make it into more than it was"

Robb decreased the distance between them.

"It was more than that and you know it" – he stated; his eyes never leaving hers.

Rhaenys gulped, breathing heavily. They were so close that their eyes had nowhere to look at if not into the other's intense gaze.

Their noses were barely inches away from each other and they were painting into each other's mouth.

Unconsciously, Rhaenys looked at Robb's lips and shivered, remembering how wonderful they had felt against her skin. She couldn't stop remembering his lips on her body; how strong his hands were, but also how smooth and gentle.

"Rhae" – he breathed against her lips.

Abruptly, Rhaenys returned to reality. She pushed hard against his chest, increasing the distance between them.

"Don't do that" – she said, quickly opening the door behind her.

She stepped into the room and slammed the door.

 _It was just sex_  – her own words started to echo in her head –  _Don't make it into more than it was._

It was a lie. She knew it was a lie. She didn't want to say those things. However, she felt like she didn't have a choice.

If he hated her, it would be easier to ignore her feelings and deal with the fact that they couldn't be together.

 _Maybe he could go back to his ex-girlfriend_  – Rhaenys thought –  _What was her name again? Jeyne?_

She had done some research and found out that the girl was a primary school teacher. She had chestnut curls, a heart-shaped face and brown eyes. She seemed to have a gentle heart.

Rhaenys pressed her forehead against the door and shut her eyes.

Robb was better off without her. There was no way they could work. There were things that she couldn't give him, no matter how much she longed to.

 

* * *

 

Sansa gasped as soon as her eyes saw the luxurious oval bathtub.

On the left side of the tub there was an upholstered arm chair, accompanied by a free standing towel rack. On the wall above the tub hung a painting of a castle; underneath the illustration was a note:  _Dragonstone_. She made a mental note to search for that name latter.

Once the tub finally filled with hot water, she removed her white top and hung it over the edge of the chair, then she pull off her olive green shorts.

She removed her bra and matching panties and touched her toe to the water, testing the temperature. She stepped in and sat down eagerly.

Sansa lay back in the tub; the hot water soothed her body.

She closed her eyes and hung her left arm over the edge of the tub, preventing the bandage from getting wet.

"You must be Sansa" – a voice startled her.

Sansa's eyes shot open and she nearly jumped out of the tub. She immediately saw a blonde woman sat in the armchair, looking at her with curiosity in her eyes.

The young woman looked a lot like Rhaegar and Aegon.

Sansa quickly realized who she was.

"You're Jon's sister, I mean …aunt" – the words stumbled out of her mouth, practically on their own.

"I prefer Dragon Queen" – she said, smiling – "But you can call me Dany" – she added – "So, how did you end up here?" – she asked, crossing her legs; her eyes never leaving Sansa.

Sansa gathered some bubbles to cover her front, realizing her current state.

She wanted to sink in the bathtub or rush for a towel to throw around her torso.

The woman continued to look at her, ignoring the fact that she was naked.

Sansa felt more uncomfortable by the second.

"I was caught in the explosion" – she managed to say – "And…hmm, Jon saved me"

"Ah, of course he did" – Daenerys said – "Jon has a strong moral code despite his tendency to break the family rules" – she explained – "Sometimes I think he has a death wish"

"Well, he probably wouldn't risk his life if he knew who I was in the first place" – Sansa mumbled; the words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.

She closed her eyes for a second, trying to compose herself.

Sansa's declaration seemed to humor Daenerys, causing her to smirk.

"He would" – Daenerys stated – "The words  _Fire and Blood_  never suited him"

She rose from the chair, making her way towards the door.

"I like you Sansa and I'd like us to be friends" – Daenerys said, turning her body so she could look at the girl in the tub – "but if you hurt my family or double cross us, there will be consequences" – she added; her tone casual but carrying a threat Sansa understood.

As soon as Daenerys walked out of the room Sansa sank into the tub. The words  _Fire and Blood_  echoed in her head.

 

* * *

 

 _Don't be a coward_  – Jon said to himself as he looked at the door in front of him.

He knew he couldn't avoid her forever, but he hoped that if enough time passed before he ran into her again, the guilt would diminish. Deep down he knew it wouldn't, but he also knew that he couldn't avoid the situation forever, or his feelings. He couldn't deny that the need to be near her was increasing.

He started pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…

He had somewhat come to terms with his feeling for her. It was pointless to deny that. He could feel his heart beating against his ribcage.

There was a connection between them; a connection that ignored reason and logic.

She made him feel things. She made him want things, and it felt natural.

Everything between them had felt so right … at least until they left the island and his beautiful dream turned into a nightmare.

"If you don't stop that pacing you are going to wear a hole in the carpet" – a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

He turned his head and saw Daenery's closing the door of Sansa's room.

She had come home early. The business in Russia must have worked pretty good or pretty bad.

Suddenly, she wrapped him in a crushing hug.

"What were you doing in Sansa's room?" – he asked.

"I was just introducing myself" – she smiled, releasing him from the hug so she could look at him – "What's your excuse?"– she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"I need to talk to her" – Jon stated, running his fingers through his hair.

"Well, she's a little busy at the moment" – Daenerys commented – "She's taking a bath" – she added, enjoying the way Jon's eyes widened.

He blinked. Dany's statement caught him off guard.

He was starting to believe that his family was purposely trying to embarrass him. First Aegon, and now Daenerys. At this point it was a miracle Sansa hadn't run away from all of them. She probably thought they were mad.

"Please tell me that you knocked first" – Jon finally said, regaining control of his voice.

Daenerys stood on tiptoes so she could reach Jon's face.

"You know I never knock" – she said, placing a quick kiss on his cheek, before running into her bedroom.

 

* * *

 

Sansa laid flat on her back for at least two hours, staring up at the ceiling. Despite her exhaustion, sleep remained out of reach. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of the past few days' events and discoveries.

She took a deep breath to steady her rapidly beating heart, then sat up and threw the blanket off of her, suddenly very hot.

She pulled her hair into a ponytail and looked around the room.

She wished she could pull her sketchpad out of her backpack and start drawing, but unfortunately she couldn't. She didn't have a backpack and she didn't have a sketchpad.

Sansa jumped out of bed and walked towards the wooden desk in the end of the room.

She needed to draw. Drawing always calmed her.

She searched for a sheet of blank paper but only found an old fountain pen.

Sansa sighed and glanced over at the French doors. She drew the curtains back and opened the doors.

She stepped out onto the balcony and immediately felt the cold night air caressing her skin. The sound of the leaves rustling calmed her a bit.

She felt her feet becoming cold and got back into the house.

She sat on the floor next to the bed and stared up at the ceiling again.

After some thinking, Sansa opened the door and looked down the hall.

She made her way down the corridor, trying to remember the door to Rhaenys's bedroom, so she could ask her for a blank paper.

She considered tapping on the door to her left, but she quickly changed her mind. She didn't know if the door led to Rhaenys's room and she definitely didn't want to risk knocking on Jon's door.

She continued to walk. Her body moved by itself. Before she knew it, she was in a different corridor. She picked her way to the end of it carefully, where it branched into two more, each identical to this one.

Sansa frowned.

She wandered from corridor to identical corridor. She descended the stairs and realized that she was lost.

True to her stubborn, determined nature she continued to walk.

She paused in front of a big door. It was half opened and Sansa could see streaks of light coming from the room.

The door swung open at her touch.

Sansa's eyes widened as soon as she entered in the room; it was the size of a ballroom

She looked around the room and her lips parted. The place was beautiful. It was the dream of every book lover.

The floor was polished wood and the walls were lined with books; the shelves so high that tall ladders set on casters were placed along them at intervals. Rows upon rows of bookshelves stood at intervals on either side of the room. The far wall was painted with an image of a dragon.

In the center of the room sat a magnificent oak table. The slab rested upon the backs of two dragons, carved from the same wood. The table was illuminated by a lamp that flickered white and she noticed a pile of books scattered over the surface.

Sansa approached the table and started to analyze the books. They looked worn in a way that made it clear that these books were well used, and had been loved.

Before her fingers could reach them, a sound startled her.

She turned her head and her eyes met Jon's. He was carrying a pile of books.

Sansa couldn't help but remember the second time she had seen him. They were surrounded by trees, not books, and he was carrying a bundle of wood, not books.

Once more, her gaze lingered on him. His dark sweatpants hung low and loose on his hips. His tank fitted along his muscular body.

She felt a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"I, I couldn't sleep …" – she managed to say, hearing her own heart pounding – "I didn't know anyone would be up" – she stammered – "But I wasn't snooping around …" – she quickly said, before Jon could jump into conclusions – "I just … I was just searching for some paper sheets… I'm sorry, I should have knocked first" – she added, walking towards the door.

When she was almost reaching the door, Jon spoke:

"Sansa, please wait" – he said, putting the books he was holding on the table – "I want to apologize for what I said in the jet" – he explained as Sansa turned her body – "I didn't mean to imply that I regretted saving you or meeting you. I just …" – he trailed off – "I felt too guilty … I still do"

"Why?" – Sansa asked softly.

Jon eyed her baby-blue cotton tank top and sleep shorts set. He looked down at her feet and noticed that she was barefoot.

"Because what happened to you was my fault" – he said, trying to regain control of his thoughts – "The explosion, the shooting on the beach, your wounds…" – he explained – "If I had left you near the hotel… If I hadn't dragged you with me, you wouldn't have a bandage on your arm" – he added, looking at her left arm.

"I've had worse" – Sansa tried to joke but her words ended up having the opposite effect, making Jon clench his jaw as the image of Ramsay Bolton invaded his mind – "I forbid you to feel guilty at what happened" – she tried again; Jon's facial expression didn't change – "You risked your life for me, twice" – she added, walking towards him.

"Because I put in danger,  _twice_ " – Jon insisted.

"No. The second time wasn't your fault; it was my mother's" – Sansa retorted, biting her lower lip – "You were the only one who told me the truth, and I want to thank you for that" – she continued to say – "And for letting me stay here. The last thing I want is to return home" – she sighed.

 _Because of Ramsay_  – Jon thought –  _He was probably the reason why Sansa had decided to leave Riverrun and go alone to the island. She was still running away from him, which meant that he was still a threat to her._

Jon took a deep breath, not wanting her to see the dragon that lived within him.

"Don't worry. He's going to die soon" – he said, forcing his voice to remain calm.

"No…" – Sansa said, realizing that he was talking about Ramsay – "You don't have to do that" – she continued to say with a trembling voice – "Robb said he was going to kick him out of the Company"

"That's not enough" – Jon stated – "Not after what he did to you"

Sansa felt her heart beating erratically. The last thing she wanted was for Jon to approach Ramsay. She didn't want him to go on a suicide mission. She didn't want him to risk his life for her, again.

She could feel an actual physical pain as she thought of Ramsay hurting Jon.

"Jon!" – Sansa exclaimed, feeling her entire body trembling – "You don't know how his mind works! I've lived with him. He's dangerous" – she tried to dissuade him.

Jon struggled to keep the bile down. Her words only increased his desire to kill the man.

"I know him, Sansa. I know what he does" – he said, trying not to think about of all the things he had done to her – "We've been after him for years" – he added – "You just gave me one more reason to kill him"

"Jon –"

"Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't feel safer if you knew that he was dead?" – Jon interrupted her.

"That's not the point…" – she retorted.

"That's exactly the point!" – he protested.

Sansa winced. It was an automatic reaction; a defensive mechanism.

Jon immediately regretted raising his voice at her. Guilt surrounded him as he realized that she was expecting him to lose his temper and hit her, like Ramsay used to do.

He was about to open his mouth and apologize when Sansa spoke.

"Is that an original Pollock?" – she suddenly asked, walking towards the painting on the wall.

"I … I don't know" – Jon stammered, following Sansa.

Sansa turned her body and noticed the confused look on Jon's face.

"Jackson Pollock. American painter. Major figure in the abstract expressionist movement and known for his unique style of drip painting" – she explained, before turning her attention back to the painting.

Sansa raised her hand and touched the canvas gently; a little smile curving her mouth.

"He began painting with his canvases laid out on the studio floor. He created his large compositions horizontally to prevent his paint from running" – she started to say – "The paint literally flew from his chosen tool onto the canvas. He didn't always use painter's tools. Sometimes he used knives instead of brushes"

Jon got lost in the soft, melodic sound of her voice. He watched her lips move as she spoke, admiring her gorgeous eyes; they sparkled in delight as she talked about the painting.

Sansa was looking at the canvas as if she was looking at a masterpiece. Jon was looking at Sansa as if he was looking at a masterpiece.

He felt as though he could listen to her talk forever.

"See how his gestural lines create a unified overall pattern that allows the eye to travel from a specific spot of the canvas to the other and back again. You can almost see the way he moved his body around the canvas, almost as if in a dance, only stopping when he saw what he wanted to see" – Sansa continued to say as Jon counted the few freckles sprinkled across her nose – "He used to give his pictures conventional titles, but then he started to simply number them. Numbers are neutral. He didn't want people to bring a subject matter to the painting; he wanted them to receive what the painting had to offer" – she explained – "If he had named this painting  _Rose_  you would immediately search for the rose in it and miss the –" – suddenly, she stopped talking. She turned her head and met Jon's eyes – "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. You probably didn't want to hear all that" – she quickly said, feeling her cheeks flush – "I'll stop now"

"No, I'm interested" – Jon immediately said – "I don't know anything about art" – he admitted, scratching the back of his ear.

Sansa approached the table full of books. Her gaze lingered on one of the books.

"But you read Shakespeare" – she said, grabbing  _Romeo and Juliet_  – " _What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet"_ – she quoted Shakespeare.

Jon knew that phrase.  _Act II, scene II._

It was a very profound line. It suggested that names were just labels to distingue one thing from another. A rose would smell the same, even if people called it another name.

"What matters is what something is, not what it is called" – Jon said, understanding Sansa's words.

"Exactly, though Juliet says this phrase in reference to Romeo's family" – Sansa said with a small smile – "She's not allowed to associate with him because he is a Montague. If he had any other name it would be fine"

Sansa seemed to realize the double meaning of her words, and they lapsed into silence. For a moment they simply looked at each other.

After what it felt like an eternity, Sansa cleared her throat and took a strand of hair behind her ear.

Jon bounded up onto one of the ladders and yanked a book off the shelf. He leaped down from the ladder and landed lightly in front of her.

He handed her the book.

It was a large squarish volume bound in dark red velvet. There was a sigil cut into the velvet: a three-headed red dragon on a black background.

The title was stamped on the front in silver:  _The Game of Thrones_.

Sansa glanced up at Jon

"What is this?" – she asked.

"I assumed you'd have questions about Organized Crime in the United Kingdom" – Jon said – "That book will tell you anything you want to know about my family and our history, even about Northerners like you" – he explained.

"Thank you" – Sansa said softly.

When Jon smiled, she let her gaze drop to his lips. She felt her cheeks burning and her stomach twist into uncomfortable knots.

She shook her head and held the book close to her chest, trying to control her thoughts.

"It's late. I should go" – she managed to say – "Good night, Jon" – she added, very quickly, making her way towards the door.

"Good night, Sansa" – Jon said, before Sansa disappeared from his sight.

After a moment of hesitation, he approached the bookshelves and searched for art books.

A few minutes later he yanked a book off the shelf.

He opened the book to the first page. A notation had been written on the title page. He didn't recognize the handwriting, but he didn't need to. The letters  _L.S_  gave them all the answers he needed.

Jon's heart started to beat faster. The book had belonged to his mother.

His entire life he had tried to find more about his mother and now he discovered that part of her had always been close to him; in his favorite room of the house.

Of course that the important answers would not be found in his mother's art books. The truth about her murdering was still a mystery to him.

Jon shook his head, trying to focus on the book.

He smiled, turning the pages. There were dozens of pictures of Pollock paintings.

He yanked another book off the shelf and once again he saw the letters  _L.S_  written on the first page.

Quotes of famous artists appeared right in front of his eyes. Salvador Dali, Vincent van Gogh, Claude Monet, Leonardo da Vinci …

A quote from Pablo Picasso was underlined, indicating that it was his mother's favorite.

 _Painting is not done to decorate apartments. It is an instrument of war_.

He picked another book. It was different from the first ones; it looked like a glossary of art terms.

Jon frowned. Some of the art terminology was complex and difficult to understand. The examples weren't as helpful as they should be, especially to someone who didn't know the difference between abstract expressionism and surrealism.

One of the terms had a red underline.

_Vanishing Point – a point where parallel lines appear to meet in the distance; also known as point of convergence._

Jon smiled. He liked that term. It made him think of Sansa and their unplanned meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Arya!  
> Please leave a review, it motivates and inspires me to write! (:


	7. Crying Wolf

* * *

 

  _Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more_ — James Joyce

 

* * *

 

Robb pulled up right in front of the house.

He took a deep breath and got out of the car.

The front yard had been freshly mowed.

He looked at his mother's house. The house his mother had bought after his father's death – a house that never felt like home to him and Sansa and Arya. Bran and Rickon were too young to remember Winterfell, but Robb, Sansa and Arya weren't… and Riverrun was nothing like Winterfell.

Riverrun could have flowers, green grass, horses and swimming pools … but it didn't have Ned Stark.

Robb shook his head and walked towards the massive entrance doors.

He walked down a long corridor and tried to remember the speech he had planned as soon as he left London.

 _The plan. Stick to the plan_ – he reminded himself.

That was it: he needed to focus on the final result.

Robb looked at the snapshots around the room and a sad smile appeared on his face. Arya's face smiled back at him, five years old, gap-toothed smile framed by raven hair.

Sometimes he wondered if the photos hanging on the walls were real, or if they were just a reminder of how broken his family was.

His little sister's smile no longer existed in real life, only in old photos.

Apart from the photos, the rest of the house was cold and clean.

Robb looked at the grand staircase and noticed the piano in the corner of the room; one of the few treasures that his mother allowed to follow them to the new house.

The piano always seemed out of place in that house. It didn't belong there. It belonged to Winterfell.

Sansa used to play beautifully, but after they moved in to Riverrun, she never played again. She tried once, but she insisted that the music didn't sound the same – didn't sound right – and the piano became an adornment in a cold house.

Robb's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Robb! Robb! Robb!"

He turned his head and saw Rickon sliding down the banister of the staircase.

"Hello, little man" – Robb said, smiling.

"You're back!" – Rickon exclaimed, jumping into his arms.

"I'm back" – Robb stated, ruffling Rickon's hair. For a moment, he could pretend that he belonged to an ordinary family – "Where's Bran?" – he asked.

"He's in the stables, feeding Summer and the rest of the horses" – the twelve-year-old boy said – "Mum has been sad" – he added, after a few seconds of silence – "She cries at night. She hides it, but we all know"

Robb tried to hide his discomfort.

"Why don't you go see if Bran needs help with the horses?" – he suggested, lowering him down – "Tell him to prepare the horses for a race" – he winked at his brother.

Rickon's eyes shone with enthusiasm.

As soon as Rickon disappeared from his sight, Robb made his way to his mother's office.

He shook himself a bit before pushing the door.

Catelyn jumped from her seat with tears in her eyes.

Robb opened his mouth. He had a whole speech prepared in his mind, but his mother was faster.

"She's dead" – Catelyn cried, walking towards him – "They killed her, Robb" – she continued to say – "Sansa …" – her voice broke.

Before Robb's mind could register what she was doing, Catelyn wrapped him in a crushing hug.

Robb felt her tears staining his shirt and her body trembling against his chest.

"They killed her, Robb" – she said – "They killed her" – she repeated, as a sob raked her whole body.

Robb remained in silence, suddenly unsure of what to do.

The Ice Queen had been replaced by a lost and scared woman.

Catelyn's typical blank expression no longer existed. She was known for her rigidity and intolerance. If she didn't approve something, she would give you one of her most famous judgmental looks; her smile as rare as an eclipse.

"She's alive, mother" – Robb said, freeing himself from the embrace – "And I already talked with her" – he added, running his fingers through his hair, preparing himself for his mother's questions.

Catelyn's fearful gaze met Robb's deep blue eyes.

He couldn't believe how small she looked.

"What?" – Catelyn breathed. She shivered slightly, looking at him. She seemed to be searching for something – "But her chip …" – she said, in a low, but firm voice.

"They destroyed it, but she's alive" – Robb said, remembering the moment he extracted the chip from his sister's arm – "She's fine, mother. She's safe"

"Safe?" – Catelyn said – "They're keeping her hostage!" – she exclaimed, running a hand through her red hair; her actions frantic.

"They just want you to use your power in the Organization and banish the Boltons" – Robb explained – "They want you to erase all your connections with them"

"We need to call a board meeting" – Catelyn said like she was talking to herself – "We need to find a way to get her back"

"Sansa is their leverage. They're not going to do anything to her" – Robb continued to say – "Besides, they told me I could talk with her whenever I want"

Catelyn had a faraway look on her face that Robb had never seen before.

Control was everything to her. Without it nothing worked.

She had built a solid and respectable career for herself. Her dedication was remarkable and she expected everyone around her to perform to the same degree.

Catelyn turned to the triple windows and pulled back the filmy curtains. For a split second, she thought she saw Ned out there in the garden. Her eyes closed tight.

"What if they're right?" – Robb's voice interrupted her thoughts, making her open her eyes.

"Right?" – Catelyn asked, confused – "About what?"

Robb took a deep breath. He needed to try to make his mother receptive to the idea that the real enemies were not the Targaryens. He needed to make her see that she was at war with the wrong people.

"You always told me that dad believed in good form, in honor" – Robb started to say – "You told me that he surrounded himself by honorable people" – he explained – "That honor was the base of the Northern Families and Wolf Industries"

"What are you trying to say?" – Catelyn narrowed her eyes – "Are you defending them?"

The atmosphere was suddenly arctic. The Ice Queen was back.

"Maybe getting rid of the Boltons is not a bad idea" – Robb said – "Maybe something good could come from it"

"No, no, no!" – Catelyn exclaimed – "They have your sister, Robb! My daughter!" – she explained – "They've been planning this for months!" – she tried to control her breathing to keep her frantic emotions from consuming her – "They're exploring our weakness. Who knows what else they're planning to do?"

"Banishing the Boltons is their only condition to set Sansa free" – Robb insisted.

"They're lying!" – her voice breaking slightly. Catelyn slammed her lips together as thought that would somehow bring the sound back – "They want to destroy us! They're the enemy, not the Boltons!" – she added.

Robb tried to speak, but his mother was faster.

"The Boltons are one of our most trusted and dedicated members" – Catelyn continued to say – "We can't abandon them, not now that the dragons put a target on their backs…" – she retorted – "And Ramsay. He's practically family!"

Robb wished he could tell his mother who Ramsay Bolton really was. Hearing her defending the man who hurt his sister felt like a punch in his stomach, but he managed to swallow down the pain.

Telling her the truth about Ramsay Bolton would cause more harm than good. It would put his mother in danger; it would put their whole family in danger.

He couldn't risk it. Jon was right. They needed to be one step ahead of him. This was not the time for impulsive decisions.

Catelyn always liked the Boltons, especially Ramsay.

She always thought that Ramsay was a good influence on Sansa. The best thing that ever happened to her daughter, and she still didn't understand how Sansa managed to let him go. How could her daughter have been so foolish?

Sansa being with a high ranking member of the Northern Families meant that she would always be safe.

Ramsay was a good match. He was the right person to make Sansa change her mind about the nonsense painting. He could make her daughter focus on what really mattered: her brilliant expertise on science and engineering.

Sansa could finally be part of Wolf Industries. Ramsay was already part of the Company. Together they could be unstoppable. They could make a good team, just like Catelyn and Ned once did.

Besides, Sansa seemed calmer whenever she was around him. Her ideas of travelling the world and learning more about painting seemed to vanish when she was with Ramsay … and to Catelyn that was a good thing. He could have been the perfect son-in-law.

"What about Sansa?" – Robb snapped – "What about your precious words? _Family, duty, honor_. I thought family came first. I thought –"

"Everything I do, I do it for the good of the family!" – she cut him off – "I will not make the same mistakes that your father did" – she added – "As history told you nothing? The dragons cannot be trusted. They're trying to destroy us" – she explained coldly.

"Mother –" – Robb tried to say.

"This is not the time to destroy alliances!" – she interrupted him.

Robb opened his mouth to retort, but the door opened before he could speak.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Robb clenched his jaw as Petyr Baelish walked into the room. He was one of the most dangerous men in the Organization. He enjoyed crushing people.

He was an extremely intelligent man, not only a genius at financial matters but at cynically controlling those around him.

Unlike Catelyn, Robb knew that behind Baelish's smiles there was a cold sociopath with an utter ambition. His eyes didn't smile when his mouth did. Petyr Baelish was a ruthless manipulator. The man had no real loyalty or genuine affection for anyone.

He owned multiple brothels and used his employees as spies.

"No. I was just leaving" – Robb said, walking past him and slamming the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Sansa woke, breathing hard, the book sliding off her lap as she sat up.

The dream was gone, but the truth remained.

She looked at the book next to her and remembered the night before.

After leaving Jon in the library, it had taken her an age of wandering from corridor to identical corridor before, by lucky chance, she recognized the door to her bedroom. She had slipped under the covers and began to read the large squarish volume bound in dark red velvet.

Sansa learned from the book that the Northern England had many crime families. Those families, together, established the Northern Families in the 1930s, which decided on the rules for the entire Organization and their own honor code of conduct that was based on strict loyalty with one another and opposition against the South.

One of its most famous founders was Rickard Stark, who became the most powerful member of the Northern Families after arranging the murders of Tytos Lannister and Jeyne Lannister.

The revenue from organized crime came mainly from money laundering, the distribution of narcotics, and counterfeiting merchandise. Those who went against the Organization were usually killed.

By the end of the 1950s, the Starks founded Wolf Industries.

Rickard Stark had great ambitions. He negotiated the betrothal of Eddard Stark to Catelyn Tully. After reading those words, Sansa couldn't help but feel a pain in her chest. Her parent's didn't marry for love. It was an arranged marriage; a marriage based on power, wealth, land, convenience…

Sansa also learned that the Boltons were an English crime family, and that they had a reputation as one of Liverpool's most sadistic crime families.

Their alleged specialities included pulling teeth using pliers, cutting off toes using bolt cutters and flaying their enemies alive (according to rumors, keeping their skins as trophies).

Sansa shook her head, wondering if she would ever feel normal again.

She felt long rays of bright sunlight touching her face and glanced around the room.

She swung her legs out of bed and went into the bathroom.

Staring at her reflection, Sansa felt the information – the truth – swirling in her head. Part of her wanted to suffer from memory loss so she could be herself again. She didn't recognize the girl who stood before her. Twenty four hours ago she knew exactly who she was, but now all she could see was a lie – a lie created by the people she loved.

She didn't want to belong to a crime family. She wanted to be normal again.

Sansa couldn't help but feel like part of her was forever lost. Her memories were replaced by an emptiness that felt heavy. She was now doomed to carry a burden; her family had turned into a burden.

She washed her face in an attempt to suppress what she now knew. It didn't work. She couldn't stop thinking about what she learned from the book; she couldn't stop thinking about what the book confirmed it.

She always thought that her family Company developed industrial machinery and that it was also involved in electronic devices. She couldn't be more wrong.

Wolf Industries was not a research and development Company used for industrial purposes. The Company made much of its profits from the sale of weapons and munitions. It developed military weapons and equipment.

Sansa shivered, realizing that the electronics devices, such as, surveillance equipment, were probably used for her family's crime activities, not for keeping people safe.

She went suddenly cold all over, cold as winter.

Her mother was always saying that she wanted her to join the Company; that her expertise would be a great help for Wolf Industries.

Did she really expect her to use her skills to build weapons? To inflict bodily harm on people? To prolong a historical war?

How could she ask her that? How could she turn her own daughter into a killer?

Sansa tried to imagine her mother killing people, and failed.

She let out a heavy and unladylike breath and took one last glance at herself in the mirror, before stepping out of the bathroom.

She flung open her closet and searched through her supply of clothes. _What to wear?_

Rhaenys's clothes were beautiful: elegant silk blouses, pleated skirts, warm sweaters, tight jeans, flannel shirts, khaki jeans, gauze tops and so many other clothes hanging on the clothes hanger.

After some deliberation, Sansa opted for a dark gray sweater, tight jeans and black lace up chunky boots; her hair pulled into a messy ponytail that never would have passed her mother's standards.

She made her way to the door and remembered last night. She took a deep breath and opened the door, feeling like she was about to enter into a maze, again.

As soon as she stepped out into the hallway, a sound of a door closing caught her attention.

She turned her head and the sound of her own heart beating against her ribcage invaded her ears.

"Sansa" – Jon said and Sansa felt her stomach contracting and then twisting into a knot.

Her name sounded different on his lips. It made her feel safe and so many other things – good things.

She remembered the first time he said her name and the way her body reacted to it. It was as if she were hearing her own name for the first time – the caress of the S, the way it seemed to end on a breath.

"Hi" – she said, clearing her throat. The noise sounded terribly loud in the silence of the room.

Fortunately, Jon didn't seem to be waiting for her to continue the conversation:

"Did you sleep alright?" – he asked.

"I did" – Sansa managed to say.

Jon's unruly hair was still damp from a shower, and he was dressed in jeans and a white Henley with the sleeves rolled up his strong forearms to his elbows.

She was trying not to admire how attractive he was. The first few buttons were undone, showing his strong neck and the beginning of a warm and smooth chest.

"Are you heading downstairs?" – she asked, trying to regain control of her thoughts.

"Yes. I was just heading to the kitchen" – Jon said and Sansa nodded – "Did you eat breakfast already?" – he asked, after a few seconds of silence.

"No, I …" – Sansa trailed off.

She eyed him hesitantly and grew timid.

She wanted to tell him that she didn't know where the kitchen was, but the words refused to leave her mouth. She didn't want to embarrass herself in front of him. She didn't want him to think that she needed an escort. He had better things to do than to be her guide, right?

Besides, she wasn't family and this wasn't her house. She didn't want to intrude.

Jon looked at her.

She was biting her lower lip and looked as if there were something that she wanted to say to him.

He read her expression accurately.

 _She didn't know where the kitchen was_ – he realized.

"There are a few tricks to learning your way around the house" – Jon said – "I can teach you" – he offered.

Sansa looked straight into his eyes.

 _He was telepathic, surely_ – she thought.

She couldn't help but think that he was always saving her.

"Thank you" – she said softly, looking relieved – "I'd like that" – she smiled.

Jon stared at her for a long moment. She was beautiful.

His insides fluttered, sending curls of heat through his stomach and shivers all the way down his spine.

Jon cleared his throat.

"I trust you're hungry" – he said, trying to compose himself.

"I'm starving" – Sansa admitted, making Jon smile.

"Well, let's hope they left us some food" – he said.

A smile emerged on Sansa's face as she followed him across the corridor.

Her heart was hammering.

He was always saving her.

 

* * *

 

When Sansa and Jon came into the kitchen, the others were already midway through breakfast.

Sansa looked around the room. It was an enormous kitchen, all modern, with counters and glassed-in shelves holding rows of royal bone china crockery.

The kitchen was warm and full of light. The sweet smell of food reminded her of home.

Aegon had a pile of eggs and bacon on his plate and was digging into them vigorously. Daenerys was sat across from him, and she was eating a bowl of cereal.

Rhaenys was daintily spreading jam onto a piece of toast.

Rhaegar pushed the newspaper across the table towards Gendry, offering Sansa a warm smile.

"Sansa!" – Rhaenys said as soon as she noticed her. She motioned for Sansa to seat at her side.

Jon sat across from Sansa. Gendry handed him a glass of orange juice.

Sansa noticed that, just like Jon, Aegon and Gendry's hair was also wet.

Rhaenys pushed a silver toast rack across the table towards Sansa.

"Toast?" – she offered, reaching over to the center of the table for the jam and butter.

Placing the linen napkin in her lap, Sansa looked at the stacks of food set out in front of her. There were two plates with pancakes, bread, a fruit bowl full of strawberries, a plate with scrambled eggs and lots of bacon.

Sansa examined the wealth displayed on the table. There were several silver goblets and plates, all stamped with the family sigil – a three-headed red dragon. There was also a tea service that was delicately painted with scenes of the Orient.

Sansa looked at the silver toast rack and then at the butter. Her stomach grumbled. She wanted nothing more than to spread the butter on a piece of toast. She reached for the silver knife, but quickly dropped her hand, changing her mind.

She was a disaster when it came to food, and the last thing she wanted was to tear the bread in front of everyone. No matter how much she wanted to eat a good piece of toast with butter, she decided that it was best to choose a different thing to eat.

Aegon's voice interrupted her dilemma.

"Do you know that Dany has a new boyfriend?" – he said, looking at his father – "Or should I say _old_ boyfriend?" – he added, emphasizing the word _old_ , smirking at his aunt/sister.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes.

"If you were half as funny as you thought you were, you'd be twice as funny as you are" – she snorted, faking a smile – "Jorah is not old" – she added.

"He's older than father" – Aegon replied.

"At least I have a boyfriend" – Daenerys replied – "And he's not old, he's _mature_. Besides, he can get me into clubs"

"He's elderly" – Aegon insisted.

"He's not _elderly_!" – Dany exclaimed, throwing her fork across the table, but Aegon was faster. The fork missed him and hit the wall instead.

Sansa's eyes widened.

"You need to practice the art of fork throwing, sis" – Aegon simply said, winking at Dany, making her roll her eyes.

She grabbed her spoon, but before she could continue to eat her bowl of cereal, Aegon spoke again:

"So, how old is he?" – he asked, enjoying how his taunts annoyed her.

"Why do you keep on and on about that?" – she growled, slamming her hand down on top of the table so hard Sansa thought it might crack – "It's none of your business!"

She was watching Aegon and Dany bickering, when Rhaegar's voice caught her attention.

"Forgive my children, Sansa" – he calmly said – "They tend to forget their manners at home"

Sansa smiled shyly. She appreciated how he set her at ease.

When she looked back down at her plate, there were two pieces of toast with butter sitting there.

She narrowed her eyes, confused.

Sansa looked at Jon and saw him picking up a piece of bread and applying butter to it. Her heart started to beat faster.

 _I'm terrible at cooking. I can't even fry an egg and every time I make a sandwich, I always tear the bread when I'm trying to spread the peanut butter_ – she had told him when they were still on the island.

He remembered her words.

She felt as if a link existed between them.

He liked books, like her. Ramsay didn't like books. He used to say that books were just a waste of time... but Jon was different. Jon was good. He played the part of the criminal, but strangely, she didn't fear him. He made her feel safe, confortable, happy.

Sansa met Jon's eyes and felt a rush of heat in her face.

She was about to thank him for the pieces of toast when a voice interrupted her.

"Enough with all the shouting!"

Sansa turned her head and saw a man with silver-blond hair and lilac eyes approaching the table. He was tall and he had a hard, gaunt face.

"Out all night" – Aegon spoke – "Bit old for that, aren't you?" – he smirked, looking at his aunt again.

Daenerys kicked his leg under the table.

"A dragon doesn't get old" – the blonde man replied.

"Everything went according to the plan, brother?" – Rhaegar asked, taking a sip of his tea.

 _Brother?_ – Sansa thought – _How many were they?_

"I'm not an amateur" – the blonde man retorted and Sansa noticed that there was something vicious and cold behind his eyes.

"I'm the one who did all the work" – Daenerys objected – "Viserys just stood around watching"

Sansa was fascinated by the resemblance between the siblings. They had the same blonde hair, the same pale skin, the same violet eyes… but where Rhaegar was all kindness, Viserys was all arrogance. Daenerys was still a mystery to her.

Viserys was about to protest when he noticed Sansa. He eyed her suspiciously, making her feel uncomfortable.

"Who's this?" – he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"She's Robb and Arya's sister" – Rhaenys said, smiling at Sansa.

Sansa straightened her back and worked to present some semblance of calm.

"Sansa Stark" – she said, holding out her hand.

Viserys shook her hand firmly.

"A wolf" – he said, releasing her hand and turning her attention back to his brother – "I don't remember approving this. Why wasn't I informed?" – he demanded – "Why didn't you give me a file on her? What's her expertise?"

"She's not a recruit" – Jon spoke. He had gone rigid all over, stiff as a bar of iron.

Viserys looked at him, confused.

"She's under our protection" – Rhaegar explained.

"Protection?" – Viserys scoffed – "Am I the only one in this family who actually knows the meaning of _our_ words?" – he declared – "She's setting you up. Setting us all up!"

Viserys's violet eyes gazed at Sansa with hostility as pure and concentrated as acid.

Jon noticed the fear in Sansa's eyes and tensed. His protective feelings stirred up.

He glared at Viserys; his gray eyes blazing, but his uncle was focused on Sansa.

Seeing his reaction, Gendry grabbed his right arm, discretely, but so tightly that prevented Jon from rising from his chair and stabbing Viserys with his fork.

"Do not fret, brother" – Rhaegar said calmly – "Sansa means us no harm"

Viserys didn't seem convinced.

He clenched his jaw and glared at Sansa.

The look he shot her was as sour as poison.

She was glad when the door shut behind him.

"Charming, isn't he?" – Aegon commented.

 

* * *

 

After breakfast, Sansa went to the library. Luckily, she recognized the door to the reading room. The last thing she wanted was to bump into Viserys. The man was frightening.

She spent the morning analyzing the rows of bookshelves of the room.

A few hours later, Rhaenys invited her to lunch. She had ordered Chinese. She also told her that Jon and the rest of the boys were training, which meant that they wouldn't be joining them for lunch.

Sansa liked Rhaenys. She made her feel at home. She was nice and a very hospitable person; a good host.

They were sat on Rhaenys's bed. The various takeout containers scattered on the bed.

Sansa glanced around the room and noticed the amount of photos hanging on the walls, landscapes mostly: the streets of downtown London, scenes of Hyde Park in winter, the London Eye, Westminster Abbey…

 _Who had taken those photos?_ – Sansa wondered.

"Jon took them" – Rhaenys explained – "I had to beg him to let me use them. He never lets anyone see his photos. He always says that they're not good enough to be displayed"

Sansa remembered Jon saying that he would like to be a photographer.

She looked again at the photos. Jon was a very talented photographer.

A few minutes later, Daenery's joined them. The blonde woman sat cross legged at the foot of the bed. This time she didn't make any threats and Sansa discovered that Daenerys actually had a very good sense of humor. She even joked about her lowlife boyfriends.

They talked about girl stuff and shared makeup tips with each other. Rhaenys and Daenerys shared with Sansa some of their family's projects. According to them, the Targaryens were involved in humanitarian work (Rhaegar's idea). They raised money for orphanages, hospitals and schools, and participated in environmental development projects.

After lunch, Sansa went to her room. She decided to continue to read the large squarish volume bound in dark red velvet: _The Game of Thrones_.

Moments later, a knock on the door disturbed her reading.

Sansa put down the book and walked towards the door.

"Ready for the tour?" – Jon asked.

Sansa bit her lower lip, trying to disguise her smile; her enthusiasm.

She never felt this excited about a house before.

Deep down, she knew that she was not excited about the house, but about Jon. She was excited to spend time with him.

Yes, they had spent some time alone on the island, but this time was different. This time they didn't have a schedule. This time they were not running away from shooters or waiting for any helicopter to take them back to civilization.

This time it was not a life-or-death situation.

This time she was going to spend time with him because she wanted to; because he wanted to.

Jon guided Sansa down a succession of identical-looking corridors, talking as they walked.

He told her how many rooms the house had and a few tricks to help her identify the different rooms, preventing her from getting lost again.

He explained to her that each door was carved with a small word written in High Valyrian – the language of dragons.

Sansa trailed a hand along the wall, listening intently to him.

"The architecture of the house is beautiful" – she stated.

Jon smiled. There were things in the house that he didn't even notice anymore. The way Sansa's eyes widened and her lips parted in a silent _wow_ , while her head swiveled one way and another, made him look at his surroundings with new eyes.

Jon displayed for her the ballroom in which was held an annual charity party for the Red Keep.

"Red Keep?" – Sansa asked, confused.

"It's a children home" – Jon explained.

Jon told her that the income from his family's activity was to charitable donations and to funding their own crime-fighting activities.

After the ballroom came the music room.

A covered harp occupied the center of the room.

Sansa stepped farther into the room. A grand piano stood in one corner.

She looked up at the music stand and she found a copy of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. The piano keys glowed softly in front of her. She moved her arm, but before her hand could touch the piano keys she changed her mind.

They walked out of the room.

Down a set of stairs was Rhaegar's office. It was way too big for just one man. Several confortable armchairs were pulled up near a large fireplace.

In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there was a huge modern dark-wood desk which Jon explained was the place his father did much of the paperwork. The desk was so big that ten people could comfortably eat around, or discuss battle plans.

Paintings of great battles and men on horseback hung on the walls. Maps, photos and lists were spread out on the desk.

After that there was the weapons room. It looked exactly like the way something called 'the weapons room' sounded like it would like.

Swords, daggers, axes, maces, whips and knives hung on the walls. Sansa could also see steel shelves filled with guns.

Soft leather bags filled with arrows dangled from hooks, and there were stacks of boots, leg guards and gauntlets for wrists and arms.

These people's training was not just self-defense, but weaponry and battle tactics – warrior stuff.

Turning the corner, they made their way into the training room.

The floor was polished wood with various patterns drawn here and there in black ink-circles and floor mats. Long, flexible ropes hung from great raftered beams overhead.

"The beams are meant to teach us how to balance" – Jon explained, noticing the way Sansa was looking at the beams – "We have to move from one beam to another without falling"

Sansa nodded. She tried to imagine herself walking the beams, and failed.

The room had a boxing ring, punching bags, weights, stationary bikes, treadmills, skipping ropes and a running track.

The two massive arched windows that stood above them let in long rays of bright sunlight.

Jon led her down another hall. It widened out into a marble floored foyer.

He opened a set of terrace doors, allowing her to step outside first.

They stopped in front of a metal spiral staircase that descended alongside the house to ground level.

The property spanned as far as she could see in every direction.

They walked past rows and rows of flowers. The shrubs were carefully pruned.

A moment later, a set of double doors, carved with patterns of leaves and vines, greeted them. Jon opened them and Sansa's eyes widened.

The scent of horses, manure and grasses invaded her nose. Her body moved by itself.

Jon watched Sansa walking between rows of stalls.

She approached one of the horses and extended her hand. The white horse rubbed its nose against her hand and she smiled.

"We didn't name her yet" – Jon said, motioning to the horse she was petting – "We just bought her a couple of weeks ago" – he explained – "Have you ever ridden a horse?"

"Yeah" – Sansa said – "Arya used to taunt me into horseraces when we were kids" – she explained – "She always won" – she added.

"She's a spectacular rider" – Jon said, remembering all the times she bested him and his family – "Aegon always complains that she steals a head start from him"

"Robb complained about the same thing" – Sansa stated.

Jon watched her petting the horse.

"You should name her" – he suggested.

"I, I can't …" – Sansa said, blushing a little.

The horse was beautiful and friendly, but it wasn't hers.

Sansa was starting to realize that she didn't own anything anymore.

She felt lost. Her family was a lie. Her memories were a lie. Her life was lie. She didn't have any roots to cling to.

Jon pointed to a grey horse with dark golden eyes.

"That one is Arya's. Her name is Nymeria" – he explained, interrupting her thoughts – "And that one over there is Grey Wind; Robb's horse" – he added, pointing at a colored smokey grey horse with yellow eyes – "Arya and Robb already have their own horses here. It's only fair you have one too" – he continued to say – "Besides, she really needs a name" – he added with a grin on his handsome face.

Sansa smiled a little. It was like Jon could see right through her.

"Lady" – she finally said, looking at the horse in front of her – "Her name is Lady" – she repeated, feeling like she was finally creating some roots.

 

* * *

 

As he entered the strip club, the smoke seemed to envelop him.

Gendry averted his eyes from the half-naked dancers wrapped around poles.

The club felt like a dark planet, characterized by an elevated catwalk, pulsing lights, vaulted ceiling and music.

As Gendry scanned the room, he saw men hooting and hollering, at the end of the catwalk, whenever a dancer came near them.

He looked at the bar, trying to find _her_. Sometimes he wished he could put a chip in her.

_Why couldn't she stop putting herself in harm's way?_

He searched the center of the room, but only found tables and couches full of men and performers.

The loud music was starting to make Gendry's head hurt. The lights whirled around the club and a new dancer appeared on the stage.

He was glancing around the club, when a man and a blonde woman, at the end of the room, caught his attention.

He watched the woman refilling the man's glass while his pig eyes crawled up and down her body.

Gendry clenched his jaw.

The man was so focused on the woman's legs that he missed the way she wrinkled her nose, disgusted by his actions.

When the man touched one of her bare legs, Gendry's eyes widened in rage.

The woman laughed and tossed her head back, disguising her discomfort.

Before the man could rub his hand up her leg, Gendry approached the table.

"I think you should leave" – he put a heavy hand on the old man's shoulder and squeezed; his voice deep and commanding – "She's my girlfriend"

"What kind of boyfriend are you? I'd never bring my girlfriend to the Peach" – the man said before turning his body.

As soon as he saw Gendry's size, he turned pale; he rose from his chair immediately.

Gendry's eyes followed the man as he walked toward the tables in the center of the room, searching for a new female company.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" – Arya protested – "You're not my boyfriend!" – she added, rising from the chair.

She set her chin stubbornly and glared up at Gendry, but he could be just as stubborn. He crossed his arms over his chest.

Arya's hands were now tight at her sides, her nails cutting hard into her palms. She straightened up, wishing he weren't so much taller than her.

 _Stupid bullheaded_.

Her feet ached from wearing high heels. The wig was itchy and it took a lot of effort not to scratch her head.

She was wearing a tight black dress; the hem brushed the tops of her thighs.

She hardly ever wore skirts, much less short ones, but if she was going to try to get information out of repulsive men, she needed to show some skin; she needed to replace her confortable clothes for short dresses, high heels and a blonde wig (that allowed her to disguise her Stark features).

"He was starting to get a little grabby" – Gendry said.

"I was trying to get information out of him!" – Arya felt her voice rise, but she didn't bother to force it back down – "And you ruined it!" – she shouted, walking past Gendry.

Arya darted back through the crowd, pushing her way past knots of chatting people, getting to the door as quickly as she could. Gendry followed her.

She reached the door and burst out into the rain-drenched evening air.

She walked into a narrow alley that bordered the Peach. The alley was brick-walled and shattered beer glasses littered the ground, along with cigarette butts.

Gendry watched her taking off the blonde wig and flinging it onto the floor. Her thick hair was mussed, one lock dangling in front of her eyes, making her look sexy and vulnerable at the same time.

 _She was so infuriating!_ – Gendry thought – _And she didn't even know how beautiful and brilliant and keen mind she was._

All of Arya's rage rose to the surface, a hot, unstoppable tide.

"Are you spying on me now?" – she suddenly asked, glaring at Gendry.

"You shouldn't be here. Petyr Baelish owns this place" – he explained, running a frustrated hand over his face – "You have to stop being so reckless!" – exasperation clear on his voice – "What if someone recognized you? This place is full of dangerous men"

"I'm not some damsel in distress! I know what I'm doing! I know how to defend myself!" – she protested, pushing her wet, heavy hair back from her face.

Gendry grabbed her arms, trying to make her see sense. Arya struggled against the restrain, but it was no use; his hands were as strong as iron.

"It's too risky! You need to stop putting your life in danger!" – Gendry exclaimed.

"It's my life!" – she growled, trying to ignore the way Gendry's shirt was clutched to his body, revealing his abdominal muscles.

Gendry stiffened.

"That's really selfish, you know that?" – he snarled, releasing her – "You don't care about getting hurt, but there are people who care about you and if you die, they will be devastated" – he blurted.

Gendry seemed to realize what he had said, and they lapsed into an appalled silence. For a moment they simply looked at each other.

Gendry could feel his heart beating against his ribcage.

Arya could feel the walls she had built around her heart breaking. She craved him as she craved no other.

She averted her eyes. She needed to retreat and shore up her defenses, rebuild her walls. She would not give in.

She raised her chin defiantly and looked him in the eye.

"Maybe they just need to stop caring, then" – she said coldly.

Her words were like a punch in his stomach, hitting him so hard he thought he would crumble. She was trying to distance herself from what was going on between them.

She could be an absolute granite fortress when she wanted to.

Gendry moved forward so that he stood only less than an arm's length in front of her.

"Maybe they will" – he finally said; his voice very rough.

Arya bit the inside of her cheek, feeling a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, as she watched Gendry walk away from her.

 

* * *

 

Jon and Sansa walked around the property. Jon continued to share information about his family and stories of growing up. Sansa realized that her childhood had been very different from his. She didn't have the private lessons … or the training.

They walked near a serene and peaceful lake.

"When I was a kid, we had a pond close to my house that always froze over in winter" – Sansa started to say, remembering Winterfell – "My dad would take me there a lot"

Jon went suddenly cold all over. Her words awakened old memories better forgotten.

Sansa noticed the way his body tensed. She eyed him hesitantly.

"I'm sorry … I didn't want to talk about my father" – she quickly said – "You probably don't want to – "

"It's okay, Sansa" – Jon interrupted her, forcing a smile.

He knew her history. She was scared she had said the wrong thing. She was scared that he would hit her for it.

Guilt clawed him for making her feel threatened by him.

"This must be confusing to you" – he added, softly.

"I just" – Sansa trailed off – "I can't help but wonder if I ever did know him at all…" – she explained, quickly becoming frustrated – "He always told us to comport with dignity, with honor" – she willed herself to calm down – "Where is the honor in lying?" – she asked, looking right into Jon's eyes – "At least your family always told you the truth" – tears burned the back of her eyes.

"I think your father was just trying to protect you" – his mouth felt dry.

"By lying to me" – she frowned.

 _By not dragging you into this world_ – Jon said to himself.

He looked down at her hands. They were slim and careful hands; the hands of an artist, not a fighter (not a killer).

Sansa led out a breath that she hadn't realized she's been holding.

"I'd rather know the truth than live a lie forever" – she added.

The sadness in her voice hurt Jon.

This was the time; the time to come clean. He could tell her everything. He could tell her what he did. It would never be more perfect.

He tried to open his mouth but it was like his lips had been sewed shut.

He couldn't tell her the truth. He couldn't admit he was a fraud. He couldn't face the betrayal and the disillusionment that would cloud her eyes. He couldn't lose her.

Raindrops started falling.

Jon swallowed the lump in his throat.

"We should probably head back" – he finally said.

When they returned back to the house, it was nearly dark.

"Thank you for showing me the house" – Sansa said.

"I wish I could show you London" – Jon managed to say – "And not just this" – he added, gesturing at their surroundings.

"Maybe next time" – Sansa smiled.

Jon's heart pounded so loud he could hear the racing beat.

"I come bearing gifts" – a voice prevented Jon from speaking.

Sansa turned her head and saw Robb hoisting up a black suitcase and an orange duffel bag.

Her eyes widened with delight.

"Did you …" – she started to say; her lips curling into a smile.

"… bring _your_ clothes?" – Robb completed – "That's me. Your trusty servant" – he added.

Sansa launched herself at him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" – she said, hugging him tight – "You're the best brother ever!" – she added, smiling against his shoulder.

"I know" – Robb chuckled, freeing himself from her embrace – "And that's why I bought you this" – he said, showing her a brand new sketchbook.

Sansa's smile widened.

"You bought me a sketchbook" – she managed to say.

Her joy encompassed Robb.

"I told you that I would" – he stated – "How was your day?" – he asked. The question was directed to Sansa, but Robb glanced at Jon.

Sansa took his eyes off of the sketchbook.

"It was good" – she said, glancing at Jon – "Very good" – she added.

Sansa offered Jon a smile that made his heart beat faster. His emotions getting the best of him, _again_ , a sensation to which he was totally unaccustomed until he met her, Sansa Stark.

He swallowed the heart that had risen into his throat.

He was attracted to her. She was so different from anyone she had ever met before, and he liked that. He liked her smile, her red hair, her deep blue eyes, her melodic voice, her slim hands, the twelve freckles sprinkled across her nose…

Jon shook his head. _When had he counted her freckles?_

He tried to regain control of his thoughts.

"I'll let you two talk" – he said, clearing his throat.

Robb nodded. He put a hand over his sister's shoulder and they made their way to the staircase.

Jon watched Sansa holding the sketchbook like a little girl holding her most precious doll. As he looked at her, he could almost pretend that the world was a safe place to live.

He was about to reach the front door when it suddenly opened, showing a vexed Gendry on the other side.

His brother slammed the door violently and walked past him, ignoring him when he called after him.

Jon frowned.

Gendry didn't lose his temper often.

They may not be brothers by blood, but Jon always felt they were alike.

Jon and Gendry didn't lose their temper often, like the rest of the family did. Most of the time, they were the voice of reason.

Aegon, Dany and Rhaenys were impulsive; Jon and Gendry were thoughtful.

Jon sighed and opened the door, wondering how a small girl like Arya Stark could have such power over Gendry.

 

* * *

 

Jon entered into the lift. As soon as the doors closed, he pressed his back against the cold wall and shut his eyes.

He had made a quick stop at the grocery, trying to keep his mind occupied and not think about old twinges. There were some memories, though, that never faded.

The memories pains mixed with the image of a beautiful girl with red hair and deep blue eyes. Guilt unfurled in his chest.

His training allowed him to remain calm, but the gun in the waistband of his pants felt heavy.

His time alone with Sansa felt like a dream, a beautiful dream from which he didn't want to wake up.

Jon wished things could be different, simpler… but some things were impossible to change, and one of those things was the past. No matter how hard he tried, the past was already written, the ink was dried.

Sansa's voice invaded his mind:

_You were the only one who told me the truth, and I want to thank you for that._

His stomach tightened. His palms were sticky, and not from the heat. In fact, it was cool inside the lift.

Jon felt like a fraud.

Sansa could see him as a white knight, but she was wrong.

_You were the only one who told me the truth, and I want to thank you for that._

She didn't know the truth.

He should have come clean, but the moment had passed and he didn't do the right thing. He'd dug himself in deeper, made his lie – albeit by omission – greater.

The door slid open and a moment later Jon stepped into the flat.

He looked at the blank white walls surrounding him. There were no paintings, no photos, no mirrors. Nothing.

The penthouse was clean and huge but it was not decorated. It was all very impressive and very impersonal.

Jon looked at his feet and immediately saw a white cat with red eyes looking up at him.

"Hey, Ghost" – Jon said, kneeling down to stroke the cat's white head.

Ghost slit its eyes in pleasure.

Jon reached into the grocery bag and extracted a can of wet cat food. He opened it, and put it on the floor for Ghost to take turns with.

He was watching Ghost eating when a strident buzzing noise startled him.

Jon walked over to the living area. On the left beside him was the kitchen area. All white with dark wood worktops and a large breakfast bar.

Near the kitchen area was a dining table surrounded by six chairs. And tucked in the corner was a chessboard.

The far wall was glass and led onto a balcony that overlooked London. In the distance he could see the river Thames and far off to his left the London Eye.

To the right was an imposing 'U' shaped sofa that could sit ten adults comfortably. It faced a modern fireplace. The wood furniture had clean lines.

Jon approached the large off-white couch and stared at Arya. She was gazing at the numbers blinking on the screen; her brows furrowed.

"My mother doesn't stop calling me" – Arya growled, shoving the phone back into her messenger bag – "And Robb called me at least sixteen times today, most likely to lecture me . I bet Gendry already informed him about my most recent rendezvous"

Jon dropped the bag on the small table and sat next to her.

Arya was barefoot; her hair was twisted up in a dark knot.

"He cares about you" – Jon said, ignoring the frown on her face – "And you care about him" – he added.

Arya ignored the stupid heart that seemed to thunder in her chest.

"I don't need him to save me, and I don't need his emotions getting in the way of what I have to do" – she said, refusing to meet Jon's eyes.

_He cares about you._

Arya shut her eyes.

She knew that if she was going to survive in this dark world, she needed to harden her heart. She couldn't let her emotions get in the way.

She was no hero. She was a fighter, which meant that she couldn't let anything distract her. Not fear. Not love.

Besides, she would never understand how a man like Gendry could be interested in her. It didn't make any sense.

She was slender, with a small chest, narrow hips and a temper.

Arya knew that she wasn't beautiful like her sister was.

She was too short (just over five feet) to be beautiful. She was cute, not beautiful. Arya hated being cute.

Being cute meant that she wasn't scaring, and a fighter was supposed to be scaring. The only positive thing about her appearance was that it allowed her to be always one step ahead of the bad guys. They underestimated her power and her skills, which allowed her to catch them off guard.

She had worked hard to be an independent and strong woman, but then Gendry came along and she felt that all her efforts had been for nothing.

He made her feel smaller than she already was. He made her feel vulnerable. He made her feel things that she didn't want to feel.

Arya didn't want to depend on him.

Their lives were so full of risks. _What if he loses him? What if he dies?_

She couldn't risk it, and that was why she kept pushing him away.

If she didn't have him, she couldn't lose him.

Arya knew that it was a messed up logic, but she was sticking to it.

She would die for him. That didn't scare her. What scared the hell out of her was knowing that he would gladly die for her. That was her deepest fear – losing him.

Her phone blared and she opened her eyes.

"You should answer their calls" – Jon said.

His tone made Arya arch an eyebrow.

The phone stopped ringing, then started up again. Arya ignored it.

"Why? What's happened?" – she asked.

Jon expelled a sigh.

"Sansa is staying in my family's house" – he said.

"Wait. What?" – Arya sat upright – "My sister Sansa?" – she asked.

Her stomach did an uneasy flip. Clearly there was something going on.

Jon nodded.

"Why?" – Arya asked, pushing a dangling lock of hair behind her ear.

She draped her legs over his lap and Jon launched into a recital of the past few days events.

He considered leaving out the detail about Ramsay, but decided that it was best to tell her the whole story. Arya was his best friend. She was like a little sister to him. They didn't have secrets.

She used to stay in his flat when she travelled to London. They'd stay up late working on their investigation and watching old horror movies. She even kept a backpack full of extra things in his flat, so she didn't have to lug her stuff back and forth from home or from Robb's flat.

As soon as Jon stopped talking, Arya jumped off the couch.

Her eyes were stinging the way they did when she tried to hold tears back for too long; the way they did when she was a little girl.

 _Ramsay Bolton_ – the name echoed in her head.

Her mind went to dark places. Images of Ramsay inflicting pain on her sister made her eyes water.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried, but she knew it had been years

Memories of her fights with Sansa invaded her head. Two little girls who liked to bicker over little things.

She remembered all the times her father talked to her about her behavior; all the times he lectured her.

 _When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you… and I need both of you, gods help me_ – her father used to say.

She never understood his words, until now. Now she understood them. Now she understood what her father was trying to say… and now she understood that she had failed Sansa.

The realization that her big sister had suffered in silence made her feel powerless.

Sansa was her sister. It was her job to know her, to worry for her and to watch out for her well-being.

Arya took a deep breath, trying to control her emotions.

Ramsay Bolton was now number one on her kill list.

Jon watched Arya pacing the room. She looked like she was in killer mode, although she was still silent, but he knew that her mood was about to incline toward thunder and lightning.

"Something to drink? Coffee?" – Jon asked, trying to break the tension.

He walked towards the kitchen.

"I don't want coffee!" – Arya protested, padding barefoot and following him across the room – "I want to find him, and I want to kill him!" – she exclaimed, sitting on one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar.

Jon poured water into the coffee maker, filled it with coffee and placed the coffee pot in place. He turned his body and looked at Arya.

He looked so tired that it made her sad.

"Just coffee. Black, like my soul" – she sighed and Jon started the coffee maker – "What am I supposed to do, then? She's my sister!" – she said after a few seconds of silence; her face supported by her small hands.

The sputtering noises from the coffee maker alerted them that the shot of caffeine awaited them.

Jon filled two cups of coffee and sat next to Arya.

"Robb and I are already working on it" – he said, handing a coffee cup to her.

"Robb and you?" – Arya asked; her brows furrowed – "What about me?"

"We already have our own investigation" – Jon said calmly, taking a sip from his coffee.

"But this can help _our_ investigation" – she claimed – "It can help us find out more about your mother's killer _and_ the responsible for the Accident!" – she insisted.

Jon tensed and she noticed it.

"How did she react?" – she asked, softly.

She didn't elaborate, she didn't need to.

"I didn't tell her" – Jon said.

His voice was steady, but Arya could see a slight tremble in his hands.

"Why not?" – she asked.

"I, I couldn't…" – Jon trailed off – "She'll hate me" – he managed to say a few seconds later; his voice barely a whisper.

Arya hated seeing him like that. Broken and so deep in pain. She hated seeing the past in his eyes. He was in torment and she didn't want that for him.

"I don't hate you…" – Arya said softly – "And neither does Robb"

Jon rose from his seat. The floor under him seemed to tilt.

He ran a hand through his hair.

"It's different. I told you right away. I told you about it before we were even friends" – Arya could see the hurt and pain in his eyes and heard it in his voice – "If I tell her now…" – Jon didn't finish his sentence – "She doesn't need to know" – he declared, as if he had reached a decision.

_She doesn't need to know. She doesn't need to know. She doesn't need to know. She doesn't need to know._

Maybe if he repeated it enough, it would become true.

Jon felt like the walls were closing in on him.

"It's not my secret to tell" – Arya said – "But I think you should tell her" – she insisted.

Jon shook his head. His breathing came hard and sharp.

He walked over to the glass wall. Ghost rolled onto his back at Jon's feet like a cloudy white shadow.

The London Eye shone brightly in the distance.

Jon pressed his forehead against the cold glass wall. He felt like he was suffocating.

He stared down at his hands. They had begun to shake uncontrollably.

He could only imagine what Sansa would think if she knew what he did. He wouldn't be able to face the hard, cold hatred look in her eyes. Even the thought of it killed him.

Jon's heart thundered in his chest.

He couldn't lose her. He wouldn't.

"She doesn't need to know" – Jon whispered, trying to convince his heart that he was making the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to read what you think (:


	8. Muse of Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depictions of violence and rape warning.

 

* * *

 

  _She had rooms in her mind that she would not look into_ – Wallace Stegner

 

* * *

**A week later**

Arya was petting Nymeria for at least an hour. Riding her horse had always calmed her, but not today.

She sighed. She knew she couldn’t avoid her sister forever.

She kept replaying her conversation with Jon in her mind, over and over again. She couldn’t erase Ramsay’s face from her head. He was now number one on her kill list.

Arya heard the horses neighing.

Each stall had a wooden nameplate with the name of the horse that occupied the stall hanging on the door.

Arya looked at the nearest stall and read the sign: _Lady_. She narrowed her eyes, confused.

The horse’s name was painted perfectly on the wooden sign. Arya recognized the handwritten. Sansa had painted it, as well as colorful miniature snowflakes.

“Lady” – she murmured.

The horse stuck its head out over the stall wall, curious to see who the visitor was. The animal shook its head and whinnied a greeting.

Arya reached out her hand and stroked the white blaze that ran down the horse’s forehead and nose. The horse was beautiful and friendly, gentle.

She took a deep breath and left the stables.

She walked past rows and rows of flowers.

A moment later, massive entrance doors carved in bronze greeted her.

She saw two burly guards standing in front of the doors. One of them tipped her an enormous wink.

Before she could step into the marble lobby she bumped up against something hard.

Arya looked up and her heart sped. She had bumped up against Gendry’s firm chest.

She was dumbstruck. She wanted to ask if he was mad at her, apologize, maybe, for her harsh words, but the words refused to leave her mouth.

Gendry looked down at her. His eyes locked with hers, challenging her to say something.

Arya remembered his words; their fight:

_“You don’t care about getting hurt, but there are people who care about you and if you die, they will be devastated”_

_“Maybe they just need to stop caring, then” – she had said coldly._

_“Maybe they will” – he’d told her._

She swallowed tightly.

 _Arya Stark, you’re a coward_ – she heard her own conscience saying.

Gendry said nothing, simply kept his dark blue eyes steady on hers.

Her pulse sped up in response to his closeness. Her mouth opened, closed.

Arya averted her eyes.

After a moment, Gendry shook his head and walked away from her.

 _Well, you got what you wanted_ – the little voice in her head said.

Arya ignored it.

She walked up the grand staircase and made her way to a succession of identical-looking corridors.

She stopped in front of the door on the far end of the corridor. She flattened her hand against the door and took a deep breath.

After a moment of hesitance, she knocked on the door. ~~~~

Arya waited for a response but no one spoke.

She looked at the door for a moment before finally pushing it open and stepping inside.

Arya couldn’t help but remember the time she had spent in that room. She used to spend hours sat on the bed, reading the files about the Northern Families, adding names on her kill list, remembering her father’s face…

The room looked exactly like she remembered it:  the yellow walls, the antique-looking wooden desk, the white curtains, the king size bed with a headboard and matching nightstands...

Suddenly, the sign of discarded balls of paper littering the floor roused her out of her reverie.

Arya narrowed her eyes. Apparently, the room didn’t look exactly like she remembered it.

She shook her head and stepped farther into the room. 

Her heart started to beat faster when she saw Sansa sat on the floor next to the bed. Her sister had a sketchbook on her lap; Arya also noticed a large squarish volume bound in dark red velvet lying on the floor.

She watched her hand work the pencil on the sketch paper.

After a few seconds, Sansa sighed and tore another sheet from her sketchbook, crumpled it up, and tossed it against the yellow wall of her bedroom.

Arya bit her lower lip, disguising a smile. Her sister’s creative juices weren’t flowing the way she hoped.

Sansa rubbed her temples. It was only then that she became aware of Arya’s presence.

Tossing the sketchbook onto the bed, she jumped to her feet.

“Your peripheral vision is terrible” – Arya spoke – “We’re going to have to work on that”

“Arya” – Sansa breathed.

“It’s been a while” – Arya said.

“Three months” – Sansa immediately said.

“Yeah …” – Arya said, looking at her own feet – “I’ve been busy”

“Busy in Thailand” – Sansa retorted.

“You’re angry” – Arya stated – “Sansa, I –“

“I’m not angry, not anymore” – Sansa interrupted her – “I’m still trying to get used to the whole ‘crime family’ thing, but I’m not angry”

Arya picked up the large squarish volume bound in dark red velvet lying on the floor.

“I’m glad you decided to join us” – she commented.

Sansa gave a half laugh.

What other choice did she have other than to join them? Going home? The thought itself made her shiver.

“I don’t want to go home” – she said, like she was talking to herself – “I don’t think I’ll be able to face mum ever again” – she added – “How do you do it?” – she asked, trying to disguise the tremble in her voice.

“I don’t have a choice” – Arya stated – “Lying to mum it’s the only way to keep our family safe” – she explained – “It’s what dad would have wanted” – she added, after a few seconds of silence.

“Is it, though?” – Sansa asked – “What dad would have wanted, I mean?” – she explained, meeting Arya’s eyes – “I sometimes wonder if I did know him at all” – she sighed.

“You did” – Arya immediately said – “He may have chosen not to tell us about the family business, but he only did it to protect us” – she insisted.

“And that justifies all the lies?” – Sansa snapped.

“He didn’t lie. He just didn’t tell us the truth” – Arya retorted – “He wanted us to have a normal and happy childhood, and we did, didn’t we?”

Sansa sighed. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.

“How long have you been working with the Targaryens?” – she asked.

Arya sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her lap.

“Since I was eighteen” – she said – “Robb has been working with them since he was nineteen, I think”

Sansa shook her head. Arya and Robb were working with the Targaryens for years and she had been oblivious to it.

Her mouth felt dry.

She wanted to be normal again. She was twenty three. Arya was twenty one; Robb was twenty seven. They should be building a normal life for themselves: a career, a family … not fighting a war, not killing people, not lying to each other.

Sansa was starting to realize that there were a lot of things that she didn’t know.

Her family was like an enormous puzzle with millions of pieces, and just when she seemed to have a portion of it figured out, it got all scrambled up again.

Suddenly, a memory cropped up in Sansa’s mind.

_“Robb” – she’d said – “How did you meet Jon?”_

_A small and sad smile appeared on her brother’s face._

_“I saved his life” – he’d said, before leaving the room._

Sansa narrowed her eyes.

According to Arya, Robb started working with the Targaryens when he was nineteen.

“Was that when he saved Jon?” – she asked – “Did he start working with Jon after that?” – she asked again.

Arya hesitated, taken aback by her questions.

“What do you know about that?” – her eyes widened.

“Nothing” – Sansa replied – “I asked Robb how he met Jon, and he told me he saved his life. He didn’t tell me any details” – she explained.

“Details?” – Arya asked.

“Yes, _details_ ” – Sansa said, running her fingers through her hair – “I have no idea what happened. Did he save him from what? From whom?” – she asked.

A knock on the door prevented Arya from answering.

Sansa took a step forward, but Arya was faster. She opened the door.

“Oh, good! It’s you!” – she exclaimed – “We need to talk” – she quickly said, giving him a look that spoke volumes.

“I – “ – Jon tried to say.

“C’mon, we have work to do” – Arya interrupted him – “My sister is busy drawing” – she continued to say, grabbing Jon’s arm – “We’ll talk later, Sansa!” – she added, closing the door behind her, blocking Jon’s view of Sansa.

 

* * *

 

It was a dream, and it was horrible and painful. But the worst part was that it was not just a dream, it was a memory.

_She opened the front door._

_Her red hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Sweat poured in stinging rivulets down her face and loose strands of hair were plastered across her forehead and cheeks._

_Sansa felt exhausted from the running._

_Her mouth felt dry. She desperately needed a glass of water._

_She was about to step into the kitchen when he grabbed her from behind._

_Ramsay spun her around and with a backhanded slap sent her reeling backward and crashing into the dining table._

_Pain radiated from her head and hip._

_Ramsay shook her violently as tears streamed down her face. Her cheek was now blue from his blow and blood poured from her nose._

_She was used to him yelling and throwing things. He blamed her for everything, including his hitting her._

_Sobbing hard, Sansa could not reply to what he could he insinuating._

_Was he mad because she was wearing shorts? Was he mad because she left the house without asking for permission first? Was he mad because she was late? Was he mad because the neckline of her tank top was too wide?_

_Sansa opened her mouth and tried to apologize._

_Holding her hair, Ramsay pulled it until she was forced to look at him. He shoved her away and she hit her head against the wall. Stars exploded on the inside of her eyelids._

_Clamping a large hand over her mouth, he crushed her in a viselike grip._

_Sansa’s lungs burned and she experienced true fear._

_Ramsay forced her into the bedroom, grinding his hips and hard arousal against her bottom, inciting even more fear._

_Sansa knew what was about to happen._

_Ramsay liked her scared._

_He pushed her onto the bed. She landed on her stomach._

_Ramsay slid the belt from around his waist and wielded it over his head like a whip._

_Sansa heard the dressing mirror smash to the floor with a loud crack._

_She curled up and tried to make herself as small a target as possible._

_The belt lashed across her back and she screamed in agony. Her thin tank top and nylon shorts no protection against the bite of the leather whip and metal buckle._

_Sansa cried harder as the leather stung against her legs._

_She felt his hand in her hair as though it were being ripped out by roots. Then she felt the belt across her back._

_Suddenly,_ _Ramsay’s fingers dug into her skin and he shoved her off the bed and onto the floor._

_She could hear him demanding over and over again._

_He wielded a sharp of broken glass and slashed her thigh, tearing the flesh._

_Sansa screamed and begged him to stop. Instead, he pushed her feet apart with his, making it impossible for her to close her legs._

_He stood over her, his hands dropping the sharp glass to push his jeans down as he fell on top of her._

_She felt his hands on her, pulling at her breasts._

_A smile crossed his lips._

_His right hand cuffed her face._

_“No” – she whimpered, then she felt the hardness stabbing into her._

Wake up! – her mind rambled in panic – Wake up!

Her body refused to obey her. Her eyes remained closed. She was trapped in her dream.

Ramsay was right: he was part of her now.

 

* * *

 

Jon was looking at the papers on his desk. He had files stacked high all around him.

Aegon paced around the room and Rhaenys was sat cross-legged on the edge of Jon’s bed with her laptop.

Jon had memos, photographs, copies of maps, several intelligence reports and a six-page document about Smalljon Umber and his past operations with the Boltons.

“I still don’t understand why you insist on going after this guy” – Aegon said – “We should be focusing on the Lannisters”

“He’s the owner of Lost Hearth” – Jon stated.

“Lost Hearth?” – Aegon asked, confused.

“It’s a hospital” – Rhaenys explained without taking her eyes off of the computer.

“He’s using the hospital to launder money and to change some hospital reports” – Jon explained – “Smalljon Umber uses his influence in the hospital to hide Ramsay’s crimes”

Aegon’s expression tightened with suspicious.

“There’s more to this than what you’re telling me, isn’t there?” – he asked.

“I told you everything you need to know” – Jon stated; he wasn’t about to tell his brother that Ramsay had hit, hurt and raped Sansa, and that Smalljon Umber helped him hid it.

Smalljon Umber created loopholes, making it impossible for Sansa to press charges against Ramsay.

Sansa had suffered physical abuse, and Smalljon Umber had hidden it from the world.

To him a woman was merely an instrument for his needs.

Jon’s fingers tightened until his knuckles paled.

Smalljon Umber was one of Bolton’s allies. To take down Ramsay Bolton, Jon needed to isolate him. He needed to kill the ones that protected the monster… and Smalljon was on that list.

Killing him was one step closer to kill Ramsay, to keep Sansa safe.

This time he had a real (an honorable) reason to kill bad people. He had a purpose.

“This is about Sansa, isn’t it?” – Aegon asked, narrowing his eyes – “You’re putting yourself on the line for a woman you don’t even know”

“She needs my help and I need yours” – Jon said calmly; Aegon didn’t seem convinced – “Are you really willing to stand by and do nothing while dangerous men continue to hurt people?” – he asked, meeting his brother’s eyes.

Jon saw the instant Aegon relented, exactly as he’d known he would. They wouldn’t have been able to work together this long if Aegon was the kind of man who would stand by.

“No” – he gritted out, his jaw tight.

“Good” – Jon said as he rose from his seat.

“Where are you going?” – Aegon asked before Jon could reach the door.

“To the weapons room” – Jon said – “I need to pack a few things”

He opened the door and stepped out of the room.

A low moan drifted through the quiet corridor and he froze in his tracks. It was coming from Sansa’s room.

Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones.

Jon walked to her room; hand outstretched to open the door.

There was a rustle of sheets, a muffled creak of bedsprings, and Jon froze mid-gesture, uncertain of what to do.

A moan, like someone in pain, threaded its way to his ears. Then a scream of such terror raised the hairs on his arms, on the nape of his neck.

Alarms began shrieking in the back of Jon’s head.

_Sansa._

He pushed the door to her room open and stepped inside.

Moonlight streamed in through the French doors, lighting up the room.

Sansa was trashing in the big bed; her red hair was spread out on the pillow.

She was damp from sweat and her body was shaking. She was whimpering and her face was contorted in agony.

Her nightmare was very vivid. The expression of tight fear on her face made something sharp twist deep inside him.

Jon heard her plead for something to stop. Then it came again, a scream; her howl reverberated through the room.

Instantly, he was at her side.

“Sansa” – he called softly – “Sansa, wake up”

Jon rested a palm on her shoulder and shook her gently.

“No” – the shout that issued from her contorted mouth sounded like it’d been torn from her throat – “Please…”

Jon’s heart contracted.

He could see her face was twisted with terror, the same terror he had seen on the island, when she confused him for Ramsay.

“Please stop…” – she continued to say as tears streamed down her face – “No…” – she cried – “Ramsay…”

Chills skated up and down Jon’s spine.

_Ramsay._

Rage invaded his body. His mind started to show him images of Ramsay Bolton forcing himself on her. Images, each one more twisted than the last, flitted through his brain. All he could see was Ramsay’s cold hands inflicting pain on Sansa.

“It’s just a bad dream” – he said, feeling his heart beating against his ribcage – “It’s not real” – he added.

Sansa continued to plead for something to stop.

Jon hated when she was in pain, even in her dreams.

“Sansa…” – his voice broke – “It’s not real. Wake up, please” – he said, smoothing the tendrils of her hair away from her face and damp neck.

Sansa woke suddenly, violently, and bolted upright in bed, heart racing.

She looked around, eyes wide open but filled with fear. The nightmare was still in her head.

She scrambled backwards until she bumped against the headboard. Tears streamed down her face.

Jon drew back, not wanting to make her more afraid.

A sob tore from Sansa’s throat as she looked into Jon’s shadowed face. With a strangled sound she realized finally that the person in front of her wasn’t Ramsay. It was Jon.

“Jon…” – she breathed in relief.

Her hair was plastered to her neck with cold sweat.

“It’s okay. You’re safe” – he murmured – “I’m here” – he added tenderly, trying to calm her down.

Jon caressed her cheek; his thumb wiping away a stray tear from her face.

Sansa’s head leant into his hand. ~~~~

She allowed his voice to drive away the terror coursing through her; the vision of Ramsay slowly dissolving.

She took a deep breath and looked at him.

“How did you know I was having a nightmare?” – she asked with a trembling voice.

Jon touched her cheek, pulling some strands of hair from her face.

“I heard you scream” – he said calmly.

“I screamed…” – she shuddered – “I, I’m sorry” – she gulped.

Sansa wrapped her arms protectively around herself. She looked over at the nightstand. The clock told her it was two in the morning.

“Shh, nothing to apologize for” – Jon said gently.

He caressed her hair, waiting to soothe her.

“I thought I was getting better…” – Sansa sighed through her tears.

Jon’s heart wrenched and burned furiously with hatred at Ramsay. He was going to kill him. He _needed_ to kill him. Never again would she be a plaything for any man.

He had an overwhelming urge to hug her and tell her that she would be fine, that one day the wound would close over.

“You will” – he managed to say, struggling to keep the bile down.

Their eyes locked.

Sansa bit her lower lip and nodded. She desperately wanted to believe in his words.

Jon forced a smile, trying to appear confident.

They lapsed into silence.

Sansa looked exhausted beyond all limits; her yawn broke the silence.

Jon cleared his throat.

“I’ll let you sleep” – he finally said.

Before Jon could turn his body, Sansa spoke.

“Stay…” – she implored – “I can’t…” – she trailed off, meeting his gentle eyes – “Please don’t leave me alone” – her voice broke slightly.

Sansa was too frightened to be left alone. He could see the tension in her body.

The sight of her trembling lips and pleading eyes was like a knife through his heart.

Emotions he didn't dare name rose in his throat, and he choked them back because he couldn't let himself feel so much for Sansa.

His heart thundered.

The weary fear in her eyes made him want to shield her with his body and his energy.

Jon slipped into her bed and pulled her into his arms.

The top of her head fit in beneath his jaw, and he rested his chin on it.

Sansa relaxed exhaustedly against him.

Jon shifted his chin from her head, enough so he could briefly press his lips against her hair.

“You’re safe” – he whispered, closing his eyes in relief as he felt her heart rate settle – “You won’t have any more nightmares. I’ll keep them away”

Sansa sighed contentedly, wrapping an arm around his chest and snuggling closer to him, inhaling his wonderful smell.

Jon wished he could be beside her every night to banish all her nightmares.

To Sansa he was calm and she could feel that easiness transferring to her. Beneath, however, a simmering rage towards Ramsay bit at him.

Her fingers gripped and curled around the material of his T-shirt, and she closed her eyes. Within minutes, she was sound asleep.

When Jon opened his eyes he saw Rhaenys and Aegon in the doorway.

 _How long had they been there?_ – Jon wondered – _Had they heard Sansa’s screams?_

Aegon looked pale. Jon could see deep frown lines all over his brother’s face. He was holding a gun in his right hand.

Rhaenys stared at Jon and Sansa with a worried look, her deep brown eyes sorrowed.

Jon put a finger to his lips, motioning them to close the door.

Rhaenys nodded and grabbed Aegon’s arm before closing the door.

Jon stared into the darkness, listening to Sansa’s calm and steady breathing, trying to stop the uproar in his mind.

In between all his guilt and anger, he knew one thing for certain: there was nothing he would not do to protect her.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, the soft sound of a door opening pulled Jon’s attention.

Rhaenys was on the doorway. She silently mouthed _‘It’s time’_.

Jon looked at Sansa. She was wrapped around him like a clinging vine. She held on to him like she was afraid he’d get away.

His heart thudded in his chest so hard it felt like the organ was trying to punch its way out of his ribcage.

The warmth of her body pressed against him was comforting; he never had that feeling with Ygritte. In fact, he and Ygritte had never spent a full night together. He slipped from her bed right after sex. He’d never woken with her in his bed.

Jon carefully detangled himself from Sansa and tiptoed toward the door.

“Is she alright? We heard screams” – Rhaenys asked – “What happened?”

_Ramsay happened._

Jon ran his fingers through his hair, trying to disguise the rage that was starting to invade his body.

“We got worried” – Rhaenys continued to say – “When we saw Sansa’s door open we worried that something bad had happened to her” – she explained – “Aegon even aimed a gun at your head”

Jon arched an eyebrow.

He knew his brother still looked at Sansa with distrust. She was not family. He didn’t know her, he didn’t know her past, but despite all that he was willing to protect her, to put a bullet in anyone’s brain who tried to hurt her. That realization made Jon feel less worried about Sansa’s safety.

She was slowly growing on the family, just like Arya and Robb did.

Rhaenys touched Jon’s arm, catching his attention.

“You don’t have to go. Let me deal with Umber” – she said – “I can use my rapier on him”

“You’re still recovering” – Jon stated.

“Then Aegon could –“ – Rhaenys suggested, but Jon interrupted her.

“No. It has to be me” – he said.

He had promised Sansa that he would keep her safe and he would honor that promise. He needed – _wanted_ – to kill the people who hurt her. He wanted their blood on his hands.

He’d do anything for her, to protect her, to make her happy.

Suddenly, Jon remembered Sansa’s words:

_Stay … Please don’t leave me alone._

He took a deep breath. He didn’t want to leave her. He knew it would be hard to be away from her for the first time since he met her.

He wanted to stay and memorize every detail of her face, but he needed to make the people who hurt her pay.

“Can you stay with her? I don’t want her to wake up alone” – he said, looking at his sister.

“Of course” – Rhaenys quickly said, offering him a smile of reassurance – “I’ll stay”

“I’ll stay too” – Daenerys’s voice echoed through the hall.

Jon and Rhaenys turned their heads, so they could look at their aunt/sister.

Dany was clad in a skimpy red dress. She had dark gray eye shadow on, though much of it had smudged off from sweating. She was carrying her high heels and her purse.

“I like her. She upgraded our computer system” – she added, grinning – “You can have the best written code in history and still have a poorly performing database if the physical and logical designs are poorly constructed and implemented. She also talked about some RAID array to store the virtual memory file” – she said; Jon and Rhaenys arched their eyebrows, feeling completely baffled – “Yeah… I didn’t get her tech speak either, but the software runs better and faster than ever before”

Jon couldn’t help but smile.

He reached for her hand and gave it a little squeeze.

“Thank you” – he said.

“Be careful, Jon” – Rhaenys said softly – “Don’t lose focus. Remember our training” – she added.

Jon nodded.

He placed a kiss on Rhaenys’s forehead. Then he kissed Dany’s cheek.

The girls steeped into the room and approached the bed.

Jon stood at the doorway and lingered a moment, looking at Sansa. She looked peaceful as she slept. Her muscles were relaxed; all of the stress and mental fatigue she felt hours ago was gone.

He could gaze at her all day, but reality intruded. Reality, and the understanding that the shadows that haunted Sansa’s mind would never be truly banished if he didn't erase them.

Jon closed the door.

He took in a deep breath and felt the dragon within him stir, rouse.

 

* * *

 

**The next morning**

Sansa opened her eyes slowly.

Rhaenys was lying beside her, eyes closed. Her long black hair was tucked over her shoulder, exposing her face in peaceful repose. Dark lashes fanned out, naturally thick. She wore a green silk robe, and her arms were tucked up by her chest, hands folded under her head.

Sansa pushed herself up on her elbows and blinked. Daenerys was lying at the end of the bed; she was making a soft snoring sound as she slept.

Sansa ran her fingers through her hair, trying to understand what was happening. The last thing she remembered before she fell asleep was Jon, but Jon was nowhere to be seen.

Rhaenys stretched her arms up above her head, catching Sansa’s attention.

“Sorry for invading your bed” – she said – “Jon’s orders. He didn’t want you to wake up alone” – she added, smiling; Sansa flushed – “How are you feeling now after your bad dream last night?”

Sansa thought back to the dream and her breath caught in her throat as she remembered the fear.

Rhaenys read her expression.

“You’re not the only one in this house who has nightmares” – she said softly – “I know your nightmares will eventually fade, but they won’t go away” – she added, touching her arm, gently – “Mine haven’t”

Sansa’s eyes widened.

“You?” – she asked, surprised – “You are always so strong” – she said, remembering all the times she watched her training; Rhaenys was one of the most intrepid and confident women she had ever met.

“I have to be strong” – Rhaenys stated – “People expect that”

Sansa wondered what kind of nightmare would keep a warrior like her awake.

A sound came from the bed, the sound of the mattress creaking.

“Good morning” – Daenerys yawned – “I need breakfast” – her stomach growled audibly.

The girls laughed and Sansa sensed a peacefulness and happiness she hadn’t experienced in years. She felt safe. At that moment, she felt she was home where she belonged.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, Sansa identified the sound of a piano being played with desultory but undeniable skill.

Daenerys, Rhaenys and Aegon were training.

Gendry was in his room packing; Sansa wondered if he was meeting Jon, wherever Jon was. The girls didn’t give her much information. They only told her that Jon was the one on the field this week. Sansa didn’t really know what that meant, but she hoped he was safe.

Turning the corner, Sansa came to a doorway, the door propped fully open. Peering in, she saw that she was looking at the music room.

Rhaegar was seated at the grand piano; his slender hands moving rapidly over the keys. He was barefoot, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt; his body bathed in the warm light casted by the long rays of bright sunlight that the massive window let in.

His expression was sad and forlorn, like the music.

His playing was stunning, and Sansa listened enraptured. He was an accomplished musician.

Sansa couldn’t help but feel his loneliness. It was like he was in a bubble. 

Just like the day Jon showed her the house, the harp that occupied the center of the room caught her attention, but this time it was not covered.

She walked quietly toward it, enticed by the sublime, melancholy music.

She must have made some noise, because Rhaegar twisted around on the stool.

He glanced up; his unfathomable violet eyes bright, his expression unreadable.

“Sorry” – Sansa said softly – “I didn't mean to disturb you”

She walked towards the piano, stopping just shy of touching it. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to imagine herself sitting on the bench, playing her fingers on the keys, pressing the notes one after another until a melody rose up. As she thought this, an image of her father hovering nearby leapt to her mind.

Sansa’s heart ached.

_How could she play the music he’d loved so much but could no longer hear?_

Opening her eyes, she released a breath.

Rhaegar was looking right into her eyes, and Sansa felt like he was searching for something.

She tried to control her thoughts, focusing on the present.

“That was a beautiful piece, but very sad” – she commented – “Bach?” – she asked.

“Yes, Bach” – Rhaegar said, offering her a smile small – “Do you play?”

“Not anymore” – Sansa said, avoiding eye-contact as the past insisted on returning.

She needed to step away from it, from the piano. Not playing seemed a solution to avoid the pain and the memories, but something inside her craved the sound of the piano keys and the meaning of it.

“Your father was a good man” – Rhaegar’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

She met his gaze, not quite believing the man’s words.

Ever since she had found about her family business, she’d began wondering if her memories of her father were real or just an illusion.

She was no longer sure of how well she knew Ned Stark. Her father had become a stranger to her, a hider of secrets.

Sansa let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“I thought you were enemies” – she managed to say, regaining control of her voice.

“We might have disagreed on a great many things, but we had a common interest”

A woman’s name invaded Sansa’s mind.

“Lyanna” – the word stumbled out of her mouth, practically on its own.

“Lyanna” – Rhaegar echoed.

His voice was steady, but Sansa could see a slight tremble in his hands.

“She left once your father told her about the Northern Families; once he told her that she was promised to Robert Baratheon. I think she was your age” – he started to tell what he never told anyone; what he never told Jon – “She didn’t want to be part of the Organization. She wanted to be free. She wanted to travel the world and be a painter, so she left” – he explained, offering her a warm smile – “That was a blow to your father. They had been very close” – he added – “She talked about him a lot. He was a good man, Sansa”

The kindness in his voice hurt and Sansa took a step back.

She walked towards the harp, trying to process Rhaegar’s words.

It was a tall, shiny harp. It had a lot of strings; some were as delicate as a hair, while others were thick and strong; some were bright red, others black, silver, or gold. The wood was not only carved but also inlaid with precious jewels and gold.

Sansa touched the strings gently, and a faint smile crossed her lips; she was awed by the tone. She stroked them, experimenting with variations. Even the discords and odd notes sounded beautiful to her.

For a moment, she forgot where she was and tried to find a melody. Her piano training helped and suddenly she found the pattern of the strings.

The sound of piano keys jangling made her return to reality.

She watched as Rhaegar got to his feet. He slid the gleaming black piano cover closed and walked towards her.

Sansa thought she could see some pain reflected in his eyes.

Rhaegar reached out a hand and touched the harp, tracing a finger along the decorative carving on the upper curve.

“Birds usually decorate the upper curve because that piece represents spirit” – he commented, before touching the forepillar – “Here you can see a rainbow trout and right here you can see a bear” – he added – “Air, water, earth are all present in the harp”

Sansa narrowed her eyes.

“Air, water, earth …” – Sansa started to say – “Where is the fire?”

Rhaegar smiled. Lyanna had asked him the same question.

He stroked his fingertips over the strings.

 “The fire is in the music” – he said, making Sansa smile.

She saw how lovingly he touched the strings. He clearly loved the instrument.

_Was he the owner of the harp? Or did it belong to someone else? Why was it covered when Jon showed her the room?_

The question stumbled out of her mouth before she was even aware of her lips parting.

“Do you play?” – she asked.

Rhaegar’s fingers left the strings.

“Not anymore” – he said, echoing her words from moments ago.

His voice was neutral, but something in his tone let her know that more questions in that direction would not be welcome.

He bent to grab the sheet lying on the floor. He put the sheet over the harp, covering it.

“What do you say we explore London a bit?”

Sansa’s eyes widened.

“Really?” – she gasped – “But, I… I thought I couldn’t leave the house … I thought it was too dangerous…”

“You've been stuck in this house for a week” – Rhaegar said – “I think it’s time for you to see the city. With the right security measures we'll be fine” – he explained – “How would you feel about wearing a wig?”

“A wig?” – Sansa laughed.

“A wig” – Rhaegar said – “A black wig” – he explained – “That way we can hide your identity so no one will recognize you while we visit the National Gallery”

“The National Gallery…” – Sansa breathed – “I’ve always wanted to visit the National Gallery” – she added; her eyes shone the clearest blue – “Van Gogh’s ‘ _Sunflowers_ ’ and Cézanne’s ‘ _Bathers_ ’ are there, aren’t they?” – she wore an expression of stunned happiness.

Rhaegar nodded.

Sansa leapt up, pure delight on her face. She clapped her hands enthusiastically.

Her joy encompassed Rhaegar, but before he could open his mouth, the sound of footsteps caught his attention.

He took his eyes off of Sansa and looked at the doorway. He immediately saw Viserys stepping into the room.

“May I have a word, brother?” – he asked.

His eyes, when he looked at Sansa, were bright with dislike, erasing her smile from her face.

Rhaegar turned his attention back to Sansa.

“Why don't you go into the living room while I speak with Viserys?” – Rhaegar suggested – “I won’t be long” – he added gently.

Sansa nodded and left the room, avoiding Viserys’s gaze.

Rhaegar looked at his brother.

“Give the girl a chance” – he spoke.

“A chance?” – Viserys scoffed – “A chance to ruin us? To kill us?” – he added – “We should be fighting the Starks, not giving them shelter. It makes us look weak!”

“She’s not our enemy” – Rhaegar explained – “She didn’t even know about the family business until a week ago”

“I can’t believe you buy that story!” – Viserys exclaimed.

“Sansa is innocent. She’s like – “ – Rhaegar trailed off – “She’s like Lyanna” – he finally said.

After the words left his lips, something inside him awoke.

He knew Robb and Arya. They were good and loyal and honorable, but Sansa had a light inside her that her siblings didn’t have. She had the same light that Lyanna had. She had an innocence inside her that refused to disappear. Even after knowing the truth about her family, that innocence still existed.

And then there was the art, the painting, the music, Ned Stark … and Jon.

Rhaegar still remembered the exact moment he met Lyanna. He didn’t know who she was at the time. He didn’t know she was a Stark and she didn’t know he was a Targaryen.

He would never forget the moment he picked her drawing off the floor – the sketch of a dragon flying towards the horizon.

Rhaegar knew Sansa was not the enemy. She was like Lyanna.

“Dragons and wolves don’t mix” – Viserys interrupted his thoughts – “The Targaryens and the Starks will always be enemies” – he stated.

Rhaegar placed a hand over his brother’s shoulder.

“Sometimes I think you really believe that, brother” – he spoke, before leaving the room.

 

* * *

 

 ~~~~Rhaenys maneuvered herself carefully from one long beam to another; she had a flexible cord tied around her waist that was supposed to keep her from hitting the floor if she fell.

The beams were set twenty feet up in the rafters of the training room. Walking the beams was meant to teach you how to balance. Rhaenys liked them.

The half-moon windows were open, and cool late afternoon air spilled in, chilling her sweaty skin.

Rhaenys frowned. She was tired of waiting for her brother. Aegon had gone to get another rope and said he’d be back in five minutes. He was late.

Rhaenys moved out to the edge of the beam, and then she jumped.

For a moment she felt herself hang suspended, free of everything. Then gravity took over, and she plunged toward the floor. The cord pulled taut and she rebounded, flying back up before falling again. As her velocity slowed, she opened her eyes and found herself dangling at the end of the cord, about five feet above the floor.

Her hand went to her thigh holster, hidden by her sweatpants. She grabbed her sheathed dagger and sheared through the cord around her waist. Released, she fell freely onto one of the padded floor mats.

Her hands went to her stomach; her fingers traced a long scar that streaked viciously across her abdomen.

Rhaenys bit the inside of her cheek as her mind traveled and she remembered the moment Cersei Lannister threw her against the window; it broke into a million little pieces.

She touched the scar on her back and shivered. The jagged glass had cut through her abdomen and back like a shredder.

No matter how hard Rhaenys tried not to think about it, her mind kept replaying the moment her body broke through the window in a brutal showering of glass. That moment had changed her irrevocably.

She took a deep breath and walked towards the punching bag.

When the bad guys were not around to de-stress, she used the punching bag.

Rhaenys squared her feet and began punching the bag. After a few minutes, sweat started dripping down her body and soaking her sports bra.

She let speed increase faster and faster, switching hands. She pretended the bag was Cersei and Joffrey and Jaime. She hated them.

The sound of footsteps caught her attention and she gave the bag one final hard hit.

“What took you so long?” – she complained, slowly turning her body, ready to face Aegon.

A familiar figure approached her. She would have recognized him anywhere, at any time, no matter how dark the room or how unexpected the sight of him.

Her heart started to beat faster as soon as her eyes met Robb’s. A small shock of longing went through her.

It felt like it had been forever since she’d last seen him, though she knew it had been only about a day. His presence in the house had become a regular thing since Sansa moved in.

She felt her skin grow warm and tingling beneath his lingering gaze.

Her breath quickened and she worked to hide his effect on her. She was drawn to his warm blue eyes. The minute her eyes connected with his, she felt an instant connection to him on a level she couldn’t fathom.

Robb smiled, Rhaenys didn’t.

She shook her head to dispel the extraordinary effect he was having on her senses.

She began punching the bag.

“Sansa is not home. My father took her to see the city” – she stated, refusing to meet his eyes.

Robb moved around the punching bag. He braced it for her, watching.

Rhaenys ignored him until it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

“What?” – she demanded, dropping her arms.

“You’re not fully twisting your wrist when you punch with the right hand” – he said.

Rhaenys glared at him. The image of punching him was strong in her mind.

Robb grinned, as if he had read her mind; the twinkle in his blue eyes made her heart skip a beat, and the amusement in his eyes told her he knew exactly why she refused to punch him, to touch him.

Rhaenys shook her head and punched again. While she wanted to ignore his advice, she found herself double-checking. He was right.

She punched slowly a few times until she was certain she’d corrected her punch.

“Twist your hip more when you hit with the left” – Robb’s voice invaded her ears again.

Rhaenys clenched her jaw. He was deliberately trying to provoke a reaction from her.

She stepped away from the punching bag.

Robb grabbed her wrist before it could reach him.

She didn’t move.

Robb flattened her hand against his chest.

She tried to pull away, but he kept her anchored. His fingers tightened around hers and Rhaenys looked away to their joined hands.

She couldn’t speak, her vocal cords paralyzed.

She found herself trembling from having him so near her.

She needed to increase the distance between them so she could think.

Rhaenys kicked his shin.

The force knocked Robb backward, and they sprawled together onto one of the padded floor mats, Rhaenys on top of him.

He grinned up at her.

She was breathless, and not just from the impact of the fall. Being sprawled on top of Robb, feeling his body against hers, made her hands shake and her heart beat faster.

She had thought maybe her physical reaction to him would fade with familiarity, but that hadn’t happened. If anything, it had gotten worse the more time she’d spent with him, or better, she supposed, depending on how you thought about it… and that was why she needed to get away from him, away from his disturbing presence.

He reached up and pushed her hair back from her face.

“I’m joking” – his voice was a low throb, brushing like velvet.

He stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers, lightly but enough to make her shiver.

Rhaenys shook her head, trying to find her voice in a throat choking close on a rush of emotion.

Robb lifted his other hand and cupped her face. Rhaenys had no option but to lift her head towards his.

He sat up, taking her into his lap. Rhaenys’s hands clamped his shoulders. To push him away or tug him close?

Their eyes locked. Robb never wanted to look away. When Rhaenys looked at him like that he could do anything, be anything she wanted.

His hands slid down, shaping the supple curve of her back and dragging her against him. Her yielding body told him she wanted him too. A sigh escaped her parted lips and it was music in his ears.

Robb dipped his head and kissed her neck; Rhaenys arched, giving him access to her throat.

Her hands clutched him as he scrapped his teeth along the base of her neck.

She knew she ought to push him away; her mind told her it was the sensible thing to do, but no other part of her cared about what was sensible. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, into the fabric of his T-shirt, feeling the resistance of the muscles underneath, and kissed him frantically.

She took her hands off his shoulders, hooked her fingers through his belt loops, and pulled him against her. He let her do it with no resistance, folding his body against hers until they were pressed together everywhere: chests, hips, legs, like puzzle pieces.

His hands slid down to her waist and he kissed her, long and lingering, making her shudder. She slid her hands under the hem of his shirt, and let her fingers explore what was underneath: the tight, hot skin over his ribs, the ridges of his abdomen, the scars on his back, the angle of his hipbones above the waistband of his jeans.

He was moaning softly against her mouth, kissing her harder and harder, as if it would never be enough, not quite enough.

A horrific memory exploded in Rhaenys’ mind, shattering her out of her dream of kissing Robb.

She felt the skin split and warm blood pour down her body. She felt the burning pain that followed.

She saw Cersei and Joffrey’s eyes dancing with sadistic joy.

With a gasp she pushed Robb away, hard enough that he let go of her. Her heart was slamming against her rib cage like a battering ram, and she felt dizzy.

She stepped away from him, walking with quick, jerky steps to the closest wall.

Robb looked at Rhaenys. He knew immediately that whatever they had had between them, whatever had blossomed out of her momentary lack of control, it was gone now.

She averted her eyes.

“Don’t do that. Don’t pull away from me” – Robb said, getting up from the floor – “Don’t shut down”

She had been avoiding him since their last mission, three months ago.

Yes, they’d never made an official declaration about their relationship status. They’d never talked about what they had between them, but after their first time together Robb felt closer to her than anyone he’d ever known.

They never made any commitments; they never even made any promises, but in his mind they were committed.

He’d come to rely on her in ways that had nothing to do with their work. Being with her completed him – emotionally as well as physically.

“I can’t do this” – Rhaenys drew a sharp breath.

Robb rushed over to her.

“Give me one reason” – he spoke – “Just one” – he added.

He reached for her, but she twisted, avoiding his hands.

“We have to work together” – she was grasping at straws and knew it.

“That’s an excuse” – Robb said – “What’s the real reason?” – he asked; his voice sounded tired.

Rhaenys stiffened.

Robb didn’t understand why she’d decided to distance herself as much as possible from him.

_Why was she pushing him away?_

He didn’t understand what he’d done wrong.

“I want you to leave me alone” – she said firmly.

Robb looked at her as if she’d hit him in the face.

“I don’t believe that” – he finally said, meeting Rhaenys’s deep brown eyes – “Tell me the truth. Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me” – he demanded – “What changed?” – he asked.

Robb remembered the last time they had been together; the last time he had woken up with her by his side, wrapped in his arms. He’d brought her bliss. He’d seen it in her radiant face; he’d heard it in her hoarse voice, shouting his name; he’d felt it in the pulsing climax that’d rocked her from the inside out.

He remembered when she was in the hospital. He had never felt so powerless. Not being able to visit Rhaenys in the hospital had been a mental torture. Hospital visits would seem suspicious. The Northern Families couldn’t know how close he was to the Targaryens; they couldn’t know they trusted him enough to invite him to their house, to share important information with him, to allow him to visit one of their own in the hospital. They couldn’t know he was truly part of the team.

 “It won’t work between us! I already told you!” – Rhaenys exclaimed – “I don’t want to keep fighting you, Robb!”

“Then stop fighting me” – he shot back – “I want you and you want me!”

Pain cramped her chest, constricting her breathing

“Rhae…” – Robb took a step toward her.

“Don’t” – she said, her voice very rough – “I can’t”

And then she was gone, running as fast as she could run; a blur that vanished into the distance before Robb could even take a breath to call her back.

 

* * *

 

A dry log crackled merrily in the large fireplace.

Rhaegar sat at his desk, in his study, reading a file. He turned over the pages slowly absorbing the contents.

Sansa settled on the armchair next to the fireplace; she was totally engrossed in her book.

The fireplace crackled and the wind began to make its own music.

Rhaegar thought back on the events of the day. He remembered the way Sansa’s eyes shone with tenderness and wonderment as she walked through the National Gallery, and the way she smiled… He also noticed a vulnerability about her that made him think about Jon’s words about her past and Ramsay: _They have a history, a bad history_.

He looked at the beautiful girl sat by the fire and wondered about the terrible things she had endured. Ramsay’s reputation preceded him.

Suddenly, Rhaegar’s phone blared.

He gazed at the name blinking on the screen and scowled.

Sansa was still absorbed in her book, ignoring the ringing in the background.

Rhaegar picked up the phone and sighed.

“You’re breaking the rules” – he stated – “This call can compromise your safety” – he added.

Jon knew the rules. He knew the danger of insecure lines. The Targaryens didn’t contact each other during their missions. They couldn’t compromise their safety and the operation. Jon was breaking the rules.

“I need to talk to her” – the youngest Targaryen replied calmly.

Rhaegar sighed. He walked towards Sansa and handed her the phone.

She hesitantly grabbed the phone.

“Sansa?” – a familiar voice spoke.

“Jon…” – she gasped – “Hi” – she added, trying to control the amount of emotions invading her body.

She missed him.

“I wanted to know if you’re okay” – Jon started to say – “I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I should have left a note or – “

“Rhaenys and Daenerys were better than a note” – she interrupted, smiling – “Thank you for not leaving me alone” – she softly said.

“Well, it seems my family likes you too” – Jon said.

 _Too_ – Sansa’s heart skipped a bit.

“How was your day?” – he asked.

“It was great!” – Sansa said, clearing her throat – “Your father took me to the National Gallery” – she explained, smiling at Rhaegar.

“Did he?” – Jon asked, not even trying to disguise his curiosity and surprise in his voice.

“Yes” – Sansa stated – “I loved it”

“I was hoping to take you there myself, but it seems my father bested me” – Jon said.

He told himself that he wasn’t jealous of his father. He just wished he had been the one to take her there.

He wanted to spend time with her.

He wanted to take her places she’d never been, show her the world. More than once he’d caught himself daydreaming about the places he’d like to show her. He wanted to show her his favorite spots, to see hers. And he wanted to go to places neither of them had ever been, and experience them together for the first time.

 “I don’t mind going again” – Sansa said.

Jon’s pulse sped up.

“Good” – the words stumbled out of his mouth, practically on their own.

He could imagine the two of them exploring the world together without the weight of it on their shoulders.

“Jon … I … you …” – Sansa trailed off and bit her lower lip – “You’re not hurt, are you?” – she asked.

Jon’s chest tightened in response to her words. It took him a moment to understand what she was trying to say.

His heart started to beat faster as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that she was worried about him, that she cared for him.

Jon forced himself to take a steadying breath. Another. A third, and he was finally steady enough to speak.

“You don’t have to worry about me” – he said.

“But I _do_ worry about you” – Sansa insisted – “Please be careful” – she pleaded.

Jon’s heart pounded on his ribs. Sansa was suddenly more essential to him than the air he breathed.

“I’ll see you soon” – Jon said as a small smile appeared on his face.

He hung up the phone and shook his head, whishing he could shake all the confusing conflicting emotions eating at him.

He took a deep breath and looked at the door in front of him.

He needed to focus his attention on the mission at hand.

He needed to be a dragon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading.  I hope to see you next chapter!  (:


	9. Vendetta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for the waiting.  
> Thank you all for reading, commenting and following.  
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

  _I’m a coward when it comes to matters of the heart. That is my fatal flaw_ – Haruki Murakami

* * *

 

Jon pushed the door open and walked into the room.

 _Dr. Umber_ was written over the door.

He closed the door behind him, locking it.

Jon was wearing dark pants and a black sweatshirt with a hood, which was up, covering his hair.

He took in the large expanse of marble that constituted the floor and the walls. There was a wide, tall bookshelf on the side wall.

The office was cold, clean, and clinical.

On the wall he noticed the hospital sign.

“I specifically asked not to be disturbed” – a voice said.

Jon clenched his jaw.

He slowly turned his body toward Smalljon Umber.

The man was sitting in the black high-backed chair behind his desk.

Their eyes met.

Before Umber could react, Jon slammed into him and jammed a syringe right into his neck. The liquid rushed into his bloodstream, paralyzing almost all the muscles of his body.

“It's nice to finally meet you” – Jon spoke, walking around the room quietly.

Smalljon Umber tried to speak, but no sound came out of his mouth.

His office was decorated with the rich colors of black, white and gold. On the left wall was a flat screen television.

There were two cabinets behind his desk. More books, more clinical in nature and baskets with supplies sitting organized on the shelves; a ton of books neatly lined by subject. It gave the professional space some style.

Jon ran his hand over one of the leather chairs.

His eyes fell upon a framed photograph: it was of Umber, Ramsay and some other members of the Northern Families.

Jon’s black eyebrows knitted into a dark frown and his gaze narrowed.

The muscles in his jaw clenched and he looked away.

Jon dropped his backpack and pulled out a small can, a guedel airway and a bag valve mask.

Smalljon’s eyes widened. He quickly understood what was about to happen.

He knew Ghost Dragon’s _modus operandi_. He was good. Never left anything at the scene. He made sure his victims were dead, but there was never any evidence that he’d been there. It was as though a ghost had murdered them. Everything was always wiped clean.

Most killers weren’t that thorough, but the Ghost Dragon was.

Jon approached him and put the oral airway in his mouth. He hooked up the can then through the airway coming from the man’s mouth. He attached the bag valve mask into the can’s tubing.

Smalljon tried again to talk. This time a croaking sound escaped his lips.

“Hydrogen sulfide. It's going to melt your lungs from inside out, and it's going to hurt real bad, like the worst pain of your life” – Jon said calmly – “And still it won’t make up for what you and Ramsay did to her”

Jon looked right into Umber’s eyes.

He could kill him quickly. Yet he wanted him to suffer; to feel some fear.

He wanted him scared. Just like Ramsay made Sansa feel.

In his mind, Jon saw Smalljon Umber and Ramsay Bolton laughing as they look at Sansa’s wounds. He saw Smalljon Umber changing hospital reports and hiding Ramsay’s crimes.

The memory of Sansa hugging her own body with tears in her eyes fueled Jon’s rage until all he saw was red.

Her pain was his pain; her problems were his problems.

Jon felt Umber’s struggles for air.

The man’s face turned purple before Jon’s eyes. But the only eyes that mattered to Jon were Sansa’s. Bright blues eyes; eyes filled with fear every time she remembered what Ramsay had done to her; what a monster had done to her.

Jon wanted the monster’s blood staining his hands, and if that made him evil, then so be it.

The last thing Smalljon Umber saw before he died was Jon’s expressionless face as he stopped pumping on the bag valve mask.

 

* * *

 

Arya tried the window and it opened.

Harald Karstark was on the couch reading some files, looking bored.

The loft was tastefully decorated.

It was very much a man’s space. Lots of dark leather and wood, clean and spacious.

Arya slipped in through the window and Karstark looked up from the files. His eyes showed surprise.

“You’re Catelyn Stark’s youngest daughter…” – he started to say – “What are you –“

He was cut off by the flying dagger whipped straight at him. The blade whirled right past his face, scathing the side of his cheek and jamming into the back cushion.

Arya walked towards him and he immediately leapt to his feet. Before he could pick up his gun, she had leapt over the table and pressed the tip of her small sword to the base of his throat.

“Don’t move” – she hissed and Karstark froze – “How long have you known about all the things Ramsay did to my sister?”

Frowning fiercely, Harald Karstark didn’t move or make any indication he was going to answer.

Arya sighed with irritation and pressed the sword even harder against his throat.

“Let’s not play anymore games” – she warned.

Harald Karstark took a painful swallow against the blade at his throat. Blood trickled down to the collar of his shirt.

“I don’t know anything” – he scowled viciously.

“Anything is such a general word, so unspecific” – Arya said with mock – “I want to know the truth. How long have you known about all the things Ramsay Bolton did to my sister?” – she asked again.

“You can’t do this to me” – he said.

“You don’t know what I can do” – Arya said.

“Your mother –“

“My mother is at war with the wrong people” – she cut him off.

Harald Karstark gasped.

His face went from frozen shock to anger in a matter of seconds. Then he laughed, a small laugh devoid of emotion.

“You’re a disgrace to your family” – he said coldly – “You’re as stupid as Lyanna was. You think the Dragons are better than us?”

He smiled and Arya glared at him, quickly becoming frustrated.

“I think I’m going to cut your vocal cords and let you bleed out slowly” – she said.

“I thought you were intent on facing the truth” – he laughed with a raised eyebrow – “You want to know the truth, don’t you?” – he asked; his eyes darkened with excitement – “He broke her” – he whispered – “He broke her over and over and over again to suit his needs. Your sister was his pretty plaything”

Arya’s mind went to dark places. Images of Ramsay inflicting pain on her sister made her eyes water.

It didn’t matter how hard she clenched her jaw, her chin wouldn’t stop trembling.

She willed herself to calm down.

Her hands were sweating and Needle suddenly felt heavy.

Suddenly, with a deft move, Harald Karstark caught her behind the knees with a sharp kick, throwing her to the ground.

Her lungs burned, spots of color pulsed before her eyes.

Arya rolled up onto her feet and Karstark rewarded her with a savage backhander, his ring slicing her temple.

Pain rocked up the side of her face as a steady trickle of blood coursed along her cheek.

Karstark clenched a fist in her hair, jerking her head back.

He grabbed the wrist that held her sword and twisted it.

Arya kicked at him and bucked beneath his hold. She struggled, but he was too strong for her.

With his other hand, he grabbed the sword and twisted her arm up and behind her back, holding her own sword to her throat.

Arya calmed down. Control was everything: quiet the heart, regulate the breathing, relax the mind, forget the anger, concentrate on only one thing – the necessity of the next breath, of simple survival.

Confident of attaining his goal, Harald Karstark relaxed his hold.

 

* * *

 

Gendry heard her short cry and fear tore through him.

He rushed into the room, his gaze quickly finding her.

For a moment, one blinding second in time, he knew he had lost her forever.

His thoughts travelled:

_He tossed her a package, which she easily caught. Inside was a pair of black gloves, minus the fingers._

_“Put those on and let’s start at the speed bag” – Gendry said._

_“What about the Lannisters? Jon is –“ – Arya started to protest but Gendry cut her off._

_“The speed bag is an indispensable tool” – he explained, ignoring Arya’s words – “It’ll improve your hand-eye coordination, quicken your reflexes, though I believe those are quite fine-tunes right know” – he knew she practiced Kendo, Bōjutsu and Kyūdō – “More than anything, for you, it will increase arm strength and endurance” – he added._

_“I can handle myself” – Arya wrinkled her nose and frowned, sure signs of irritation from her – “I’m going with Jon” – she added with finality._

_“You can’t” – Gendry stated._

_“I can” – Arya insisted._

_She started walking towards the door but Gendry was faster. He grabbed her arms and twisted her around so her back was pinned against his chest._

_“Let me go!” – she yelled._

_“Not a chance” – he said, holding on tight – “But I’ll consider it when you quit acting like a child”_

_“Get. Off. Me” – she warned, fighting harder against his hold, but to no avail._

_Gendry held her in a death grip._

_“How can you fight those men when you can’t even fight me, and I’m on your team?” – he said – “Last time you insisted on going, one of them almost shot you in the head” – he continued to say, remembering the moment the bullet missed Arya by just the ends of her hair when he deftly knocked her to the ground – “And that day in Storm’s End you ended up with two broken ribs”_

_“Let me go!” – Arya yelled again._

_“You would be dead right now if I were one of the Lannister soldiers” – Gendry paused – “Accept it. You aren’t ready” – he whispered near her ear._

_Arya stiffened, then wiggled to free herself._

_Gendry lessened his hold on her and spun her around before releasing her._

_“You don’t know anything about me” – Arya said through gritted teeth._

_He knew more than she thought._

_Arya gave him what she hoped was a formidable glare, and Gendry’s heart pounded so loud he could hear the racing beat._

_Something inside him wanted her – yearned to help her._

_Something else fought inside him and wished her gone, because she made a mess of him. Like wanting to push her against the wall and kiss her._

_Arya rubbed her arms where he’d gripped her._

_Gendry cleared his throat._

_“I didn’t mean to hurt you” – he spoke._

_“You didn’t” – she said hotly._

_“I didn’t mean to upset you, either” – Gendry said – “I just wanted to show you that you are no match for trained men”_

_Arya strained her spine and crossed her arms._

_“You didn’t upset me, and I know I’m not ready yet, but I’ll be” – she said, before hitting the bag._

Gendry’s eyes widened. He could still see the eighteen-year-old version of Arya right in front of him; the stubborn girl who believed herself to be ready to face all the dangers in the world.

His heart thundered.

A fist was clenched in Arya’s hair, jerking her head back as the other hand lifted a blade.

The sight of Arya within inches of death sent a flash of red before Gendry’s vision.

He rushed for her, ignoring the determination in her face and the lack of fear as her arm came up, bent, and her elbow slammed into her attacker’s solar plexus; she gripped his wrist and twisted with both hands.

The sound of a blade clattering on the floor was followed by a heavy male curse.

Gendry managed to grip Arya’s arm, jerking her back and throwing himself at Harald Karstark.

The gunshot echoed through the room like a clap of thunder.

Harald Karstark was dead. A shot in the head.

Gendry scrambled up and stood over him.

The sound of footsteps caught his attention.

He looked into Arya’s eyes and had only a moment to absorb the shock of seeing her angry face before she hit his chest.

Gendry’s eyes showed surprise, but he didn’t move.

She threw another punch, this one directed at his face.

He grabbed her fist before it reached its target.

“He was _mine_! He was my mission, my target, _mine_!” – she growled.

“No, he wasn’t” – Gendry replied, releasing her fist – “You went after Karstark using the information Jon gave me. You stole the files from me” – he added, controlling the urge to scream.

“She’s my sister!” – Arya snapped – “I told Jon that I wanted –“

“We don’t get personal when it comes to business. You should know that by now” – Gendry cut her off.

“I’m sick to death to everyone telling me what to do and worse, deciding what I should do!” – she protested – “And you’re the worst offender!” – she added – “Who gave you the right to interfere in my life?”

“Somebody needed to do it” – he ground out between clenched teeth.

Arya’s eyes widened.

“Whatever gave you that ludicrous idea?” – she objected.

“That’s right, I forgot. You could have handled everything yourself that first day in Storm’s End” – he returned in irritation – “And you were doing a wonderful job of handling Karstark. What was I supposed to do? Let you kill yourself?”

“Yes, well, you really waited to see what I could do before you jumped in, the great hero, rescuing the damsel in distress!” – she retorted – “That’s exactly what I mean. Right from the beginning, you decided that you knew what was right for me better than I did!”

Gendry didn’t answer immediately.

He stepped closer to her so that she had to tilt her head to maintain his gaze.

He caught her elbows and jerked her roughly into his arms.

She struggled to break free of his embrace, but couldn’t. With each movement of her twisting torso and legs, she felt yet another part of her touching the hard muscles of his chest and thighs.

No one could affect Gendry like Arya, and she terrified him because of it. Terrified him because he had always known that something wild and free beat inside her.

She needed a man who could stand at her side, not one who would stand in front of her. And Gendry needed to stand in front of her. He needed to protect her, to shield her.

The thought of losing her forever…. Gods, it was killing him.

He groaned, a low, torn sound that shocked him.

“You try my patience” – he said, releasing her.

“And you try my temper!” – she exclaimed – “What difference does it make to you, whether I live or die?” – she asked stormily.

Gendry frowned.

“It doesn’t matter to me” – he laughed bitterly – “That’s why I almost took a bullet in my head in Casterly Rock, and that’s also why I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night from following you till here!” – his voice had risen with every word until it had become a shout – “I’m in love with you and yet it apparently isn’t obvious enough for you. Do I have to spell it out for you?” – it came out desperate, like he wasn’t going to have another chance to tell her.

Arya sucked in a breath; the urge to run almost took over.

The sight of her body tensing upon his words was completely visible.

A sort of fear swept across her eyes, and Gendry watched as it iced over.

Her right hand went to her forehead. After a moment, she shook her head, working to control her emotions. She failed.

Gendry’s words echoed in her head: _I’m in love with you._

She felt weak in her knees. Her heart lurched, banging against her ribcage.

His words scared her more than anything.

Gendry was all hard lines and bulky frame, and yet with a capability of tenderness. That’s what scared her, what threatened to topple her walls. He had crumbled them already, and, like the soldier he was, climbed over the heaps of rubble and moved ever closer to her heart. He was good for her in so many ways. Too good perhaps.

She couldn’t give in to this powerful pull on her emotions. He made her feel vulnerable, exposed, and she couldn’t afford that. She had a plan for her life. She knew what she needed to do and what her responsibilities were. She couldn’t let him push her off that path.

She feared that she had already fallen for him too.

Her carefully constructed walls of denial were falling down brick by brick.

Gendry swallowed the hard lump settling at the base of his throat.

“Arya…” – he tried to say, but Arya was faster.

She struck him.

The snap of her hand against his cheek bounced between their bodies. He should have been used to it. She had hit him before.

A heavy silence settled between them.

Arya’s eyes were wide, unsure. Her chest rose and fell in nervous fluxes of air.

A flash of deep hurt flickered across Gendry’s face.

She took a step back. Her stomach twisted painfully at the pain she was causing him.

Arya felt her lips tremble, and pressed them together, hard, to stop the shaking.

She cast her gaze down, trying to settle her thundering pulse.

She closed her eyes a moment, and exhaled slowly. When they opened, Gendry was no longer in the room.

She heard the sound of a door closing and a great sadness overwhelmed her.

Her mind compelled her to stay exactly where she was; to not follow the only man that generated such excitement and pain and confusion in her heart. But her entire body urged her to step forward; to go after the man who had taken bricks down of her walls; who had been brave enough to confess his feelings for her.

Her foot inched forward, but suddenly her whole body halted.

It felt as though a fist of iron clenched around her heart; whether it was meant to protect or suffocate her, she didn’t know. All she knew was that, despite everything, it was easier to be alone.

 

* * *

 

**The next day**

Wolf Industries enterprise was a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect's utilitarian fantasy, with _Wolf Industries_ written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors.

A valet in a blue jacket approached Robb’s car and opened the door for him; the man got behind the wheel and drove it toward an underground parking lot.

Robb walked into the enormous glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.

He was dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and black tie.

Behind the solid sandstone desk a man nodded pleasantly at him.

Robb walked over to the bank of elevators past the two security men dressed in their well-cut black suits.

He got inside and inserted a key. He pushed a series of buttons and the doors closed in front of him.

The elevator whisked him with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slid open and another large lobby welcomed him.

Robb pushed the door open to the office.

His mother’s office was big.

In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there was a huge modern dark-wood table and at least twenty matching leather chairs around it. It matched the coffee table by the couch. Everything else was gray – ceiling, floors, and walls.

Several members of the Northern Families were around the meeting table. At the head of the table was Catelyn Stark.

Robb apologized for being late as he sat down.

He noticed several photos spread out on the table. Rhaenys’s face looked back at him and he tried to remain neutral.

He focused his attention on the other photos: close-ups of the entire Targaryen family.

“Gentlemen” – Petyr Baelish said, leaning forward – “As I’m sure you all know by now we are under attack” – he clasped his hands – “Smalljon Umber and Harald Karstark are dead”

Catelyn Stark took a slow breath through clenched teeth.

 “I need to know exactly what happened, when it happened and why it happened” – she spoke; features cold.

“Hydrogen sulfide” – Robett Glover said –“Ghost Dragon’s _modus operandi_ ”

Catelyn tensed and her pulse quickened, yet her face showed no emotion.

“What about Harald Karstark?” – she asked, tone hard and cold.

“A shot in the head at close range” – Wyman Manderly replied.

“Sounds like a professional job” – Cley Cerwyn commented.

“Any Targaryen connections here?” – Catelyn asked.

“Most likely” – Roose Bolton said – “Smalljon Umber and Harald Karstark were two of our closest allies” – he explained – “We already know that the Dragons are trying to destroy House Bolton” – he added.

“Sansa’s abduction is enough proof of their twisted plan” – Ramsay said – “They are using my feelings for her to blackmail us”

Robb’s expression hardened as he looked at the younger Bolton.

He clenched his fists, without consciously realizing that was what he was doing, as he tried to subdue the rage that had flared up inside him.

He could still remember the way Sansa’s body shivered when she told him about Ramsay; the look of terror on her face.

Robb took a deep breath. He couldn’t let his nerves show.

He had always prided himself on his emotional control, his ability to craft plans within plans. He couldn’t blow his cover.

“I can’t remember ever confronting a situation quite like this” – Yohn Royce said.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back” – Ramsay spoke, looking at Catelyn – “I'll kill anyone who lays a hand on her, you have my word”

“They’re not going to do anything to her” – Robb stated, trying to keep the fury out of his voice; his expression getting tense.

His eyes darkened an instant.

“They’re dragons. They cannot be trusted” – Yohn Royce insisted.

“We can’t believe them” – Robett Glover stated.

“We _can_ believe them” – Robb said firmly – “Sansa is their leverage. They’re not going to do anything to her” – he explained.

Robb looked at his mother.

Her eyes were hard.

She rose from her seat; her lips pressing into a thin line.

“They’re exploring our weaknesses” – Catelyn said; Robb saw the shadow of fear in her eyes, though she kept them steady on his – “We need to do the same” – she added coldly.

* * *

 

The girls stepped out of the car, ignoring the two other black SUVs that pulled up behind and in front of the Porsche.

Several other body guards stepped out as well and instantly formed a perimeter around them, although to an onlooker, it would seem like they were just a crowd of men with no knowledge of each other.

“In here” – Daenerys said, grabbing Sansa’s hand.

She hauled her into a large room with red carpets, chairs meant for children, boxes of toys, tables with crayons and coloring books.

Rhaenys followed them while one of the guards waited outside, sheltering under the awning from the rain.

“Welcome to the Red Keep” – Dany said.

Sansa remembered Jon talking about this children home – the Red Keep. He’d told her that the income from his family’s activity was to charitable donations.

She looked around the room and noticed several children playing; they squealed with delight.

What got to her the most were the many beautifully framed photos that hung on and lined one entire wall of the room. Some were beautiful close-ups of children, but others were action shots of kids playing.

Her eyes widened when she saw a picture of Robb. At a little tiny table sat her brother and three little girls having a tea party; Robb sat with his knees scrunched up to the table, a miniature tea cup between his fingers as he pretended to sip from it.

Sansa chuckled.

She noticed a picture of Rhaenys, Dany and Arya surrounded by children, and then another of Aegon wearing a princess tiara, white gloves, a feather boa and some extremely bright pink lip stick.

Sansa pressed her lips into a thin line to quell her amusement.

There was also a picture of Gendry playing with dolls and Rhaegar down on the ground reading a book to a group of children.

Jon had taken these photos, she realized.

She could feel warmth and love in every photo.

“You should see Robb and Jon playing princesses” – Rhaenys spoke; her eyes fixed on Robb’s picture.

Sansa looked at her.

There was something about the way she smiled, about the voice, the way she said Robb’s name … it was almost melodic, like his name was something precious.

Sansa bit her lower lip, trying to disguise a smile.

She remembered all the times Robb visited her in the Targaryen mansion.

Her brother’s eyes used to linger a little too long on Rhaenys.

She had seen him staring at Rhaenys when he thought no one was watching, and the way he looked at her was more than comradely. Besides, he called her _Rhae_. He was the only one who called her that.

 “… we need to go shopping for the ball” – Daenerys voice interrupted her thoughts.

Sansa looked at her, confused.

“Ball?” – she asked.

“Yes” – Daenerys said, meeting Sansa’s eyes – “Three weeks from now” – she added.

Sansa remembered Jon telling her that each year his family threw a charity party for the Red Keep.

“And what can we expect at this event?” – she asked.

“Oh, the usual stuff” – Dany said breezily.

“Not usual for me” – Sansa reminded her.

“Lots of people flashing their cash” – Rhaenys explained – “Auction, raffle, dinner, dancing … Father knows how to throw a party” – she added.

Rhaenys smiled fondly and Sansa allowed herself to feel a little excited about the party.

“If we had the time, I would have insisted upon flying to Milan to talk with my personal dressmaker for a custom gown” – Daenerys said – “Maybe for my birthday” – she shrugged.

Rhaenys laughed at the casual demeanors of Dany.

Sansa felt a momentary jolt.

Daenerys’s words echoed in her head: _Maybe for my birthday_.

Sansa had been so wrapped up in her family’s crime activities that she’d forgotten about the small things that she could still consider true and constant in her life.

Her birthday was in three weeks.

Three weeks.

The ball coincided perfectly with her birthday.

She hoped Robb wouldn't say anything. She didn’t feel like celebrating her birthday.

“We have to be dressed to kill, and I do not mean literally” – Daenerys joked, interrupting her thoughts – “I’ve been thinking colors and styles and I think you would look best in red with maybe a mermaid style” – she said to Rhaenys – “And then we’ve got shoes and jewelry to think about”

Suddenly, a little girl jumped up. She ran to Rhaenys, throwing little-girl arms around her waist and holding on tight.

“Hey, princess” – Rhaenys said cheerfully.

The little girl grabbed her hand and dragged her across the room to a corner by the window.

Sansa followed them.

There was a dollhouse in the corner. It was a beautiful miniature reproduction of a real London town house, and when the little girl touched it, Sansa saw that the front of it swung open on tiny hinges.

Rhaenys knelt down, bringing herself to eye level with the dollhouse rooms.

There were beautiful tiny rooms perfectly decorated with miniature furniture, everything built to scale, from the little wooden chairs with needlepoint cushions to the cast-iron stove in the kitchen.

Sansa took one of the few adult-size chairs and watched them play.

Rhaenys was good with kids. Great with kids, actually.

A few minutes later, Rebekah, the little girl, approached Sansa.

“Are you a dragon too?” – Rebekah asked, looking at her intently.

The question caught Sansa off guard and raised a small laugh.

Her mouth opened and closed twice.

“No, I’m not a dragon” – she managed to say.

“Not yet” – Rhaenys added, winking at her.

 

* * *

 

Gendry twisted the glass in his hand.

He felt someone come up behind him before he heard the voice of his brother.

“I thought you didn’t like alcohol” – Jon said, sitting on the couch in front of him.

Gendry pursed his lips. He picked up his glass of Scotch and downed the last of it.

The two of them stood in silence for several minutes.

“What happened?” – Jon asked, breaking the silence.

Gendry refilled the glass, drank the Scotch straight, felt it burn.

“She went after Karstark, using the information you gave me” – he spoke – “She stole the files from me” – he added.

Gendry didn’t say Arya’s name, he didn’t need to.

“I told her how I feel about her” – he continued to say, sounding like he was listing things.

Jon, like Gendry, was good at masking his expressions, but he did not even try to hide surprise at Gendry’s announcement.

“And then she hit me” – Gendry completed.

Jon knew that Gendry was important to Arya. The problem was that she wasn’t used to baring her heart; wasn’t used to dealing openly with the emotional side of things... None of them were.

Gendry’s declaration had probably scared her to death.

“It’s a defense mechanism” – Jon finally said – “She cares about you” – he added.

 _She might even love you_ – Jon said to himself.

“I know that!” – Gendry laughed soundlessly and without any humor; he ran his hand through his dark hair – “She’s being pessimistic, thinking that things will turn out badly without even trying” – he added, rising from the couch.

Jon watched Gendry pace back and forth.

His brother looked tired, depleted, defeated… and so sad.

“She’s afraid” – Jon said quietly.

“She’s afraid of all the wrong things” – Gendry exhaled slowly, sitting down on the couch again.

Jon scrubbed his hand over his face.

“She just needs time to process this” – he stated.

Gendry rested his elbows on his knees and put his head between his hands.

“I’m not trained for this” – he sighed.

Jon rose from the couch.

“Come on; I’ll let you hit me in the training room” –he placed a hand on Gendry’s shoulder – “That always makes you feel better”

Gendry looked at him and a thin smile appeared through the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of Jonsa in this chapter, but I think you’re going to LOVE next chapter!  
> Please review. I love to read what you think! (:  
> ("Hydrogen sulfide. It's going to melt your lungs from inside out, and it's going to hurt real bad, like the worst pain of your life" – I got inspired by "How to get away with murder").


	10. Happy birthday, Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for the waiting. This chapter was a hard one to write. I really hope you like it.  
> Happy reading!

* * *

  

 _I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any_ _privacy_ ― F. Scott Fitzgerald

 

* * *

 

**Three weeks later**

The house was quiet.

Jon looked at the door in front of him; his right hand outstretched, for how long, he didn't know. He wasn’t sure he would know what to say when he saw her.

The little box he was holding behind his back felt heavy.

_Would she like it?_

Jon had found the prospect of getting a birthday present for Sansa terrifying.

He’d considered buying her a sketchbook, but Robb had already bought it. He could have bought her a book, but they had an entire library filled with books that she could read whenever she liked, so it didn’t seem special enough.

Clothing? Too personal.

Jewels? Too romantic.

Nerves knotted his stomach.

 “Jon!”

His name echoed through the corridor.

He quickly stepped away from the door.

Jon turned his body and saw Aegon approaching him.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere” – the blonde man spoke; his tone made Jon arch an eyebrow – “Ramsay Bolton is in London”

Jon’s body tensed, every muscle growing rigid.

“Where?” – he asked; his right hand tightened into a fist by his side.

“Highgarden” – Aegon said.

Jon frowned.

“The Tyrells own that place” – he said.

“I know” – Aegon declared – “Margaery was the one who told me about Ramsay” – he admitted – “I’ll call the beta team and –“

“I’m the only one who can do what needs to be done” – Jon interrupted him.

 _What needs to be done_. Five simple words. Nothing exceptional about them, but when Jon strung them together, a shiver ran up Aegon’s spine, and he knew something bad was going to happen.

“You can’t kill him” – Aegon said.

He hated himself for saying it. They had fantasized Ramsay Bolton’s death for months. The man deserved to die, but not at the expense of Jon. Not with the risk of him spending the rest of his life in jail.

“He’s in a public place” – he explained – “If you kill him, he wins”

“If I kill him, he’s dead” – Jon stated.

“He wants you to lose yourself by killing him. Or by trying” – Aegon said – “He plays with people. You can’t let him get to you” – he added.

Jon let out a heavy breath.

“I still want him dead” – he said.

“I know” – Aegon put a hand on his shoulder – “Try not to act on that” – he smirked – “I’ll wait for you in the car” – he said, before walking down the corridor.

Jon looked down at the little box in his hand; eyes sad, expression grim.

A part of him wanted to stay, knock on Sansa’s door and spend the rest of the day with her, but it was quickly overruled by the desire to keep her safe.

Jon slowly placed his right hand on the door.

He took several deep breaths and each one seemed to clear his head a little more.

He stepped away from the door.

 

* * *

 

Sansa propped the sketchbook against her knees and studied the pages worth of sketches she had done. Idle scribbles at first—a detail from the Targaryen mansion: a beautiful carved fountain. An empty street, a single lamppost casting a yellow pool of illumination...

A corner of Sansa’s mouth turned up just slightly.

There were pages and pages of Jon. His face, his hands, full body shots. There was one of Jon talking with Gendry; she’d drawn his profile and had caught his hand mid gesture.

She had also drawn Jon standing on the roof, not afraid; in her sketch Jon had wings that curved out behind his shoulders in an arc like the wings of a dragon.

She enjoyed drawing him. She was compelled to draw him.

Most of the sketches were of him listening or just sitting.

Sansa flipped back to the sketch she had done of him last Thursday, the one she’d drawn of him while he was reading. It was a good picture of Jon. She’d caught the hard line of his mouth, the incongruously vulnerable eyes.

She added some more shading and cleaned up some lines.

She grabbed her coloring pencils to color in the sketch. She focused her attention on his hands. Lately, she couldn’t stop watching his hands. Jon’s hands were beautiful; they were pale and large and warm.

She flipped through the book, seeing Jon’s face looking back at her.

_Had she drawn anything but Jon recently?_

She added more detail to one set of eyes, darkening his eyebrows.

There was no escaping nor denying what the heart flutters and the butterflies in her stomach meant. Every time their eyes met, every time he entered the hall or opened his mouth to speak. Those lips…

Sansa bit her lower lip.

Jon was kind, thoughtful, handsome, strong, brave … and he even cooked.

Her heart skipped a bit.

Sansa was just flipping to a new, clean page when a knock sounded on the door.

She padded barefoot across the room and turned the doorknob quietly.

It was Robb. He was holding something behind his back.

“Happy birthday!” – he said loudly, moving what he was holding to the front of him.

Sansa’s eyes widened.

Before Robb’s mind could register what she was doing, Sansa grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room, slamming the door behind him.

“I told you not to tell anyone!” – she reproved, glaring at her brother – “What if someone heard you?” – her brows furrowed.

Robb just smiled.

“I’ve got something for you” – he said – “It’s from Arya, as well” – he added, handing her the bag – “Hopefully it’s better than nothing”

Sansa looked so touched at just the thought of them getting her something that Robb wished Arya was there to see her open it.

“Nothing is what I was expecting, so thanks” – she managed to say.

Sansa opened the package carefully.

She glanced up at him when the paper fell away to reveal two small blank painting canvas, paint brushes and water paints.

“Do you like it?” – Robb asked.

“I love it” – Sansa launched herself at him – “Thank you” – she added, hugging him tight.

Maybe her birthday wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

 

* * *

 

Highgarden was known for its glamorous décor.

The sumptuous restaurant lounge was decorated with thousands of beautiful pearls. It had a gleaming tiled floor, striking lampshades decorated with long strings of real pearls, a gorgeous bar area with velvet banquettes, and handmade tables.

Upon walking in, Aegon noticed Margaery standing around a table with some friends, drinking and talking animatedly. Her gaze flicked to his, and he winked. She rolled her eyes.

Jon watched Ramsay waving over the bartender, ordering a drink.

His fingers tightened until his knuckles paled. He had gone rigid all over, stiff as a bar of iron.

He quickly slid to the stool next to him; Aegon followed him.

“I keep hearing stories about you, Jon Targaryen” – Ramsay spoke; their eyes clashed – “The way people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest slaughterer who ever walked. Maybe you are that good. Maybe not”

“I’m not like you” – Jon said through clenched teeth – “I don’t use innocent people as human shield” – his eyes turning into steel daggers.

“No, you prefer to kidnap them” – Ramsay replied – “Catelyn Stark misses her daughter terribly. Where is she?” – he twisted the glass in his hand – “Where’s San –”

“Don't you dare say her name!” – Jon cut him off; his words came out in a gush of hatred.

Ramsay eyed him suspiciously. A twisted smile crossed his face.

Rage pulsed through Jon’s body and he nearly punched Ramsay, ready to literally rip the leering smile from his face. Images of Sansa flashed across his mind, and he stayed still.

“She told you about me, didn’t she?” – Ramsay spoke – “She never did know when to keep that pretty mouth of hers shut” – he commented – “ _My Sansa_ ” – he added.

Jon clenched his hands into two hard fists as he tried to subdue the rage that had flared up inside him. He wanted to rip Ramsay apart; he wanted to see him bleed.

The anger was starting to well up inside him, red hot and smoking.

“She’s not yours” – he growled, glaring at him; his anger building.

“She is” – Ramsay smiled – “I made her” – he drained his glass – “And I’m here to collect her. You want to avoid bloodshed? I’d be real careful about denying me what is mine”

Every vein in Jon’s body was pulsing with rage.

Aegon could feel the heat emanating from Jon’s skin.

Jon exhaled very slowly, tried to let calm enter him, saturate his mind. It didn’t work.

“She’s under our protection now” – Aegon spoke – “And you’re a long way from home”

“So, it’s bloodshed, then” – Ramsay rose from his seat.

Jon narrowed his eyes as he stared at Ramsay. Waves of revulsion and anger coursing through him.  He felt the blood rushing to his face, but his body was struck by an icy chill.

A wicked smile twisted across Ramsay’s face; his eyes never leaving Jon’s.

“I look forward to having her back in my bed” – he said before making his way towards the door.

That seemed to break Jon; his face was pinched in anger.

Fury flowed through him like a wave of electricity.

He rose up quickly, pulling a gun from his waistband.

Seeing his reaction, Aegon grabbed his right arm, preventing Jon from aiming at Ramsay.

He plucked the gun out of his hand.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? This is a public place” – Aegon hissed in anger, showing his teeth – “You can’t kill him here” – he added emphatically.

Jon shrugged his touch off.

Aegon shook his head. Jon looked so angry that he seemed feverish to him.

“And people say I’m the impulsive one” – he commented.

Jon ran a frustrated hand over his face.

Aegon was right. He had lost control, embracing the dragon that lived within him.

He was considered by most to be the ice man, never allowing emotions to interfere with anything. When others lost control, he was the one that could bring order to chaos and he did that by controlling his emotions relentlessly.  

If his training taught him anything, it was control; control of his actions, his decisions, and most importantly … his emotions. But he wasn’t in control of his emotions anymore.

_Why couldn’t he just turn them off like he was supposed to?_

He pressed his fingers to his temple and groaned.

 

* * *

 

 _I have entered an alternate universe_ – Sansa thought.

The young woman staring back at her looked worthy of a red carpet.

Her backless, floor-length, black satin gown was simply stunning.  The material clung to her body and yet it flowed, and there was a bit of train. It was a dress fit for a queen, as Rhaenys said.

Her auburn hair was in a wavy ponytail that dropped elegantly over her shoulder.

She had kept her makeup to a minimum, a natural look.

Sansa was reaching for the black suede stilettos that matched the dress when Daenerys entered unannounced.

The Targaryen girl was wearing a revealing dress with many cutouts – essentially consisting of a red dress on the bottom half, and material of the same red material in a bra shape running around her front and connecting in the back, each of which were embroidered to look like dragon scales. Over this ran an x-shape of darker red material starting on each of her hips and running to her opposite shoulders, crossing at the center of her bra piece. This left a center diamond-shaped cutout exposing her belly. This x-shaped crossover pattern was repeated on the back side behind her.

Her hair swept upwards in a seemingly loose tangle of strands; braids swooped tastefully in and out of the creation, and soft tendrils fell over her face.

She looked amazing.

Before Sansa could compliment her, Rhaenys stepped into the room.

She was dressed in a sleek, red, full-length chiffon gown. Sleeveless, the neckline of the dress dipped low in the front, enough to give a generous display of cleavage without being over-the-top sexpot.

She wore no jewelry, but a strand of braided hair circled the top of her head like a tiara. Plus, the color of the gown against her golden olive skin tone, with her dark hair and brown eyes – perfection.

“Sansa! Oh, you look gorgeous!” – she said, giving her a quick hug.

Sansa flushed.

Flanked by her two new friends, she managed a smile as they admired their reflections in the mirror.

“This is going to be a magical evening” – Daenerys stated. She hooked her arm through Sansa’s – “Now let’s go have fun!”

The girls stepped out of Sansa’s room. They made their way down the corridor.

Sansa wondered where Jon was. She hadn’t seen him all day, but he hadn’t been out of her thoughts.

She could hear people talking and laughing from downstairs and grew even more anxious.

“Ready?” – Rhaenys asked.

“As I’ll ever be” – Sansa said.

Rhaenys rubbed her arm with a soothing caress and offered her a smile.

Sansa returned her smile.

They made the grand entrance, appearing at the top of the staircase down into the hall, garnering attention from all.

 

* * *

 

“We’re late” – Aegon stated.

There was a line of expensive cars heading up the driveway of the Targaryen mansion. Long, pale red paper lanterns hung over the drive.

In the early evening light, they looked magical.

A dark red carpet ran along the lawn to one side of the house, leading to the massive entrance doors carved in bronze.

Aegon pulled into the driveway. A valet opened Jon’s door, then Aegon’s.

They followed the red carpet.

“How many people are coming?” – Aegon asked.

“I think about two hundred” – Jon said – “You’ll have to ask father” – he added.

At the entrance stood two elaborate ice sculptures of dragons.

They stepped into the marble lobby.

The interior was stunning. Three enormous, shallow chandeliers threw rainbow-colored sparkles over the ivory silk lining of the ceiling and walls.

The ballroom doors were open.

Jon glimpsed the formally arranged tables and chairs. He could see at least thirty tables:  crystal glasses, crisp white linen covering the tables and chairs, and in the center, an exquisite display of pale pink peonies gathered around a silver candelabrum.

White-suited servers moved effortlessly through the growing crowd of guests with bottles of champagne.

Jon noticed a stage where a string quartet was playing softly, a haunting, ethereal piece. The stage looked set for a big band but there was no sign of the musicians yet.

And then he saw her. She was standing at the top of the staircase.

His heart started to beat faster.

She looked beautiful. More than beautiful, he thought dazedly. She looked like a goddess. She looked like she belonged on a throne.

Unaware of his gaze, Sansa moved down, silently stepping on each step and cautiously looking around.

Jon noticed the way people looked in her direction. Men, in particular, stared at Sansa, gasping in wondering. She seemed to be the center of everyone’s attention.

She was wearing a black dress that was severe and sexy at the same time.

Her red hair was up in a ponytail; her make-up subtle, though she hadn’t been able to resist her dark red lipstick.

She didn’t notice him looking.

He watched as Rhaenys and Dany lead Sansa onto the dance floor where the other guests were congregating, chatting over glasses of champagne.

Jon inhaled sharply as he looked at her, but it was more than physical attraction. When she smiled, he smiled. When she laughed, he wanted to hear her do it again.

His attention was brought back away from her when he felt a scarf hit him in the face.

Aegon smirked at him.

“Thought you might need that” – he said – “To mop up the drool” – he added.

Jon glared at his brother, but Aegon’s smirk only got bigger.

He watched the way Sansa flicked her ponytail off her shoulder.

He’d been thinking of her all day. He missed her, he really did. He couldn’t seem to help himself.

Jon threw the scarf back at Aegon, before making his way to his room.

 

* * *

 

Robb and Sansa had taken the floor in a striking dance.

They were quite skilled.

Robb spun her around and then back again.

He grinned at her. Sansa’s musical laugh seemed to cut through the noise of the filled ballroom.

Robb lifted her into the air and spun them around several times, causing her to laugh aloud and clutching at his wrists to keep from falling.

A moment later, Robb set her back on her feet.

He raised her hand high and spun her around, only this time he let go of her hand and Sansa went spinning into someone else’s arms.

Unconsciously, she closed her eyes.

She felt a hand on her hip, pressing firm against her body.

Sansa opened her eyes and her heart began to beat faster.

“Hi” – she breathed, meeting his gray eyes – “Have you come to claim a dance?” – the words stumbled out of her mouth.

Jon looked amused. Their chests were so close that Sansa feared he’d feel her heart pounding like a drum.

“You don’t want to see me dance. I’m telling you, it’s not a pretty sight” – he said, releasing her from his embrace – “Fortunately, there will be no _Dance Auction_ ”

“ _Dance Auction_?” – she asked, confused.

“It’s a Targaryen tradition. The men agree to auction their first dance to the highest bidder” – he explained – “Aegon loves it”

Sansa laughed. She could imagine Aegon standing on the stage enjoying the attention, the bidding escalating, hoots of laughter, applause, and cheering.

“Jon always gets the highest bid” – Robb commented.

Jon rolled his eyes.

Sansa arched her eyebrows impressed by her brother’s revelation.

“Do you know where Rhaenys is?” – Robb asked.

“I think I saw her heading for the kitchen” – Jon said.

Robb uttered a _thanks_ and retreated.

“Just out of curiosity, what was your highest bid?” – Sansa asked, teasingly.

“The bid does not necessarily reflect the item’s true value” – Jon flushed.

“You didn’t answer my question” – Sansa insisted.

“Fifty thousand pounds” – Jon admitted, scratching the back of his ear.

Sansa’s eyes widened and her lips parted in a silent _wow_.

Her reaction made Jon smile. Then he realized she always made him smile, something he’d seldom done before he met her.

Jon offered her his arm.

Sansa felt a couple of people (women mostly) staring at Jon and nudging each other. They had actually stopped their discussion to stare at him.

Sansa looked at him, noticing for the first time how he had carefully dressed: a black tuxedo, a white turn-down collar shirt with red cuffs, and a black tie.

With his dark hair, gray eyes and chiseled jawline, he looked devastatingly handsome.

He was the man every woman wanted.

She smiled and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, alerting female predators to back off.

Jon led her out onto the balcony.

The stars were out; the sky looked beautiful.

They were high enough up that they could see the far gardens, the stone benches at the edge of the tree line, the rectangular pool where prized water lilies floated colorful upon the surface of the blue waters.

Sansa smiled as she looked out over the gorgeous grounds of the Targaryen House. She loved living there.

“Can you wait here for a second?” – Jon said – “I’ll be right back” – he smiled one of those rare smiles that filled his face, and Sansa felt her heart beat a bit faster.

 

* * *

 

Robb closed the door quietly.

She didn’t notice he was standing there, and he took full advantage, just watching her move.

Rhaenys’s graceful strides around the kitchen made it seem like she was floating.

“I know you’re there” – she said without looking over her shoulder. Robb walked into the light – “How long were you going to stand there and watch me?” – she asked.

“For as long as I could” – he replied.

Rhaenys’s throat felt tight, too tight even to swallow.

She poured herself a glass of water, sipping slowly, silently.

He came up beside her and leaned against the sink. Their arms were inches from touching.

Rhaenys breathed deeply, only to inhale the spicy, masculine scent that Robb radiated.

Her heart did an involuntary jump.

“You look beautiful” – Robb said, softly.

Rhaenys cleared her throat. She found it hard to think of what to say next.

“Can I get you anything?” – she finally said.

“A glass of water would be nice” – he smiled warmly.

As she handed him a glass of water, their fingers brushed against each other. Rhaenys’s hand tingled from the mere touch.

She found herself trembling from having him so near her.

Robb drained the glass in a single swallow.

Rhaenys looked at his mouth, knowing it was a mistake, but unable to stop herself.

Uneasy, she gulped.

Robb brushed a strand of hair off her face.

Chemistry sizzled the air between them; Rhaenys’s pulse racing as he edged closer.

“Robb, don’t” – her hands came up, but instead of pushing him away, her fingers clenched his own in a lifeline, a complete contradiction to her words.

Just inches apart, their eyes locked. Intense emotions slammed into her; she held her breath.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling anything, but yet she was.

Before Rhaenys could register what was happening, Robb’s mouth covered hers in a kiss.

Her heart thudded.

Rhaenys knew that she should have moved. She knew she should have pushed against his chest and put some distance between their bodies. She knew she shouldn’t just stood there waiting for his mouth to come down to hers. She knew it, but in that moment she was trapped by her traitorous need to feel his lips against hers just one more time.

Hot pulses of need fired through her as her lips felt the subtle pressure of his.

Robb wrapped his arms around her to pull her close against him; his hand wound in her hair, and she heard his deep growl as if he couldn’t get enough.

He deepened the kiss and Rhaenys nearly burst into flames. Robb’s tongue slid inside with one sensual stroke.

Her mind screamed for her to pull away, but she couldn’t. She was helpless to stop this, and she felt herself drowning in his mouth, in his kiss.

She returned his kiss with her own desperation.

The sensations that raced through her heated her blood and made her wish for things that could never be.

Beyond the kisses, Rhaenys could feel a bonding with Robb that she couldn’t afford to have.

Reality crashed upon her like a bucket of cold water and she jerked backward, breathless.

She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t indulge Robb’s momentary whim.

This was not the time and not the man for her to fall in love with.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen” – she put her hands on his sturdy shoulders, but he didn’t budge.

Her breath came hard and fast.

“It was inevitable” – Robb said; his voice was too tender.

“Nothing is inevitable” – she stated; her voice cool.

She pushed his shoulders and spun away, walking to the far side of the room.

“What’s the problem? Why do you keep pushing me away?”– Robb asked; his voice hit a deep register – “Why are you fighting this?”

“There’s nothing to fight. It’s not like we’re dating or anything” – Rhaenys said.

She saw him flinch, every muscle contracting, his eyes widening and his mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t quite locate his voice.

Her words were like a slap to his face, but she was right. They had never established anything between them. Still her answer wasn’t good enough.

“Why are you fighting this, Rhaenys?” – Robb repeated adamantly.

Rhaenys felt her heart drop inside her chest at the way Robb pronounced her name instead of the usual term of endearment.

He waited for her to speak.

“I’m not the woman for you” – fleeting pain shadowed her eyes before she looked away.

She wanted to cup his handsome face in her palms and nuzzle his strong neck, feel again the heat of his embrace.

Rhaenys blinked. She licked her lips nervously.

“Why not?” – Robb asked – “Why not, Rhaenys?” – he asked again, approaching her.

Robb brushed a curl back behind her ear and her heart contracted at the tender gesture.

She shook her head and took a step back, fighting for control, searching for resolve.

Part of her wanted to dive right back into Robb’s embrace, but she knew it’d only hurt worse later.

 “We have to work together” – Rhaenys said, avoiding his searching look – “It wouldn’t work” – she added; her voice scratchy.

“Of course it would” – Robb stated.

Rhaenys could hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re not listening!” – she stomped her heel and Robb’s smile widened. He loved her passion.

“I’m listening, but I don’t hear anything important” – he stepped closer, but Rhaenys refused to look at him – “Nothing you’ve said makes me stop wanting you” – he continued to say – “We can be happy, I know it”

Excitement sizzled in his blood as he imagined it, but a chill scudded through him as she met his eyes. She looked defeated.

In all the time he’d known her, he’d never seen her look so bleak.

“Rhae…”

“It wouldn’t work” – she said; her fingers trembled – “You want a family…” – she swallowed hard.

Robb nodded bewildered.

Rhaenys drew a sharp breath.

Fear drilled deep inside Robb, now she worried him.

She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest, trying to draw in enough air to stop the spots wheeling in her vision.

“You’d have to give all that up if we …” – she trailed off – “I can’t be the woman you want. _Ever_ ” – her mouth twisted in a pained smile – “I can’t have children, Robb”

Her chest ached as she took in his silent shock. Then she turned and left the room, leaving him dazed and gutted.

 

* * *

 

Gorgeous and polished people chatted and drank as stealth waiters floated through the crowd, anticipating everyone’s food and beverage needs.

Arya grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a slug. The stuff warmed her throat and seemed to slow her heart a bit. She took another slug and scanned the room.

Viserys was consulting the seating plan.

Rhaegar was talking animatedly with two men, while white-suited servers held trays of glasses brimming with champagne.

Aegon was sat at a table in the center, playing with his phone.

Gendry took her breath away when she saw him.

He was wearing a black tuxedo that fit him perfectly. She looked at his white turn-down collar shirt and noticed that he had gone without a tie, leaving the collar open. He looked as handsome as ever.

She took another sip of the effervescent wine, letting it fizz on her tongue then slide down her aching throat.

Gathering her courage, she took a deep breath.

It had been three weeks since they’d spoken. She had been avoiding him since the day he told her he loved her.  Three weeks where he had occupied her every thought; where she had had more than enough time to berate herself for what she had done.

She needed to fix her mistake. She couldn’t run away from Gendry anymore. She couldn’t hide. She couldn’t avoid him or the passion he whipped up in her.

She couldn’t wait another second.

Arya walked towards him.

“I want to talk to you” – she announced.

She stood right in front of him, close enough to step on.

Gendry touched his shirt cuffs as if she weren’t there.

“I said I wanted to talk to you” – she repeated, her voice rising.

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you” – he said, meeting her eyes.

“Fine. Then listen” – she snapped.

Before she could continue, a woman approached them.

She had a round flat face, dusky skin, and eyes like molten gold.

Her light blue dress clung tightly around her midsection in a strapless corset bodice, cinching in snugly around the smallest part of her waist with a silver and diamond beaded sash. The bottom of the skirt flowed elegantly onto the floor in ruched puffs of blue tulle.

She handed Gendry a glass of champagne.

Arya frowned.

“Sorry for the wait. Dany wanted me to –“ – the woman looked at Arya and stopped talking – “Hi” – she smiled – “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Missandei” – she extended her hand.

 “Arya” – she shook Missandei’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you” – the young woman said – “And, can I just say, I love your dress?”

Arya looked down at herself. Her face warmed with discomfort.

She was wearing a long gown of a pale golden color.

Gendry’s gaze moved over her like a warm touch.

She looked incredible. The dress fabric was soft and sheer, with something Gendry had heard Daenerys describe as a sweetheart neckline that dipped elegantly down between her breasts; its color complemented the paleness of Arya’s complexion and made the darkness of her hair more striking.

Even her shoes were elegant, nothing but wisps of gold on high, slender heels.

She smelled wonderfully too.

Arya looked up and met his eyes.

For a moment, Gendry actually stopped breathing.

“Oh! I love this song!” – Missandei turned her attention to Gendry – “Remember, you owe me big. Big requires dancing for an equitable payoff” – she placed her hand on his sleeve.

A hot knife of jealousy sliced Arya’s chest.

What had she expected? That after all that she had done, Gendry would still want her?

Arya couldn’t even dislike the woman. Missandei was pleasant and charming, with a down-to-earth friendliness.

She lifted her glass of vintage champagne, trying to wash away the sour tang on her tongue.

She felt herself trembling inside.

She almost stumbled when she turned and walked away, pulse fluttering in her throat.

She needed air and another drink.

 

* * *

 

Sansa tugged the thick ribbon out of her hair; her long red hair fell to her naked shoulders.

The door of the balcony squeaked, and Sansa looked up to see Jon approach with a small box in his hands.

She shook her head and bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hide her smile.

“How did you know it was my birthday?” – she asked.

Jon walked towards her with a small smile of his own.

“I have my ways” – he said, handing her the small box.

Sansa arched an eyebrow.

“Robb told you, didn’t he?” – she spoke.

"Sorry, I can’t tell you. It’s confidential” – Jon’s tone was playful.

Sansa laughed.

She opened the box and held up a lemon cake with a candle stuck in it.

Her mouth fell open, and Jon smiled at the surprised look on her face.

This was definitely one of his best ideas.

“Thank you” – Sansa said, softly; her throaty voice cracking with emotion – “I love lemon cake” – she added.

“I know” – Jon smiled slightly.

Sansa’s heart beat so hard against her chest, she thought it might break her ribs. She felt the color flood her cheeks.

The line between dream and reality blurred.

Jon pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit the candle.

“Happy birthday, Sansa” – he said – “Make a wish”

Sansa gazed down at her cake and then up at Jon. She didn’t have to think about the wish she wanted to make. She knew it instantly.

She blew out the candle.

Her lips curled into a smile.

Jon watched as she bit into the cake.

Sansa made a satisfied sound.

“Hmm, this is so good” – she moaned.

Jon smiled fondly, watching Sansa lick the remnants of sugar from her fingers.

Suddenly, they were assaulted by an icy cold gale spitting freezing rain at them.

“It’s time to abandon ship” – Jon said, reaching for the doorknob.

He tried to open the large set of balcony doors but they remained closed.

Jon frowned.

He banged the glass door with his fists, but his efforts were useless. The curtains were closed, and the noise inside the ballroom muffled the knocking and banging against the door.

They were locked out in the cold.

“It’ll clear up” – Sansa said optimistically.

Jon ran a frustrated hand over his face.

“You’ll catch a cold” – he said; his look was fiercely serious.

He slipped off his tuxedo jacket and draped it over her drenched and frigid shoulders.

Sansa closed her eyes briefly, indulging in the comfort of that simple gesture. His jacket was still warm from his body.

Exasperated, Jon pulled on the door, then pounded senselessly.

“We can’t just stay here and wait until someone comes to look for us” – he continued to say; his dark hair curling around his face like a dark halo– “You’ll catch pneumonia” –he added, and although his tone was sharp Sansa saw concern, not anger in his features.

She tried to hide the smile that threatened. His concern was very real.

The moonlight shined down on the both of them.

Sansa could hear the gurgle of the fountain. The light rustle of tree leaves. The rain falling. The steady murmur of chatter and music coming from the ballroom…

“I’m going to break the glass so we can get in” – Jon decided.

“Or you could ask me to dance” – Sansa quickly said.

Their eyes locked on each other.

Sansa’s heart crashed against her ribs.

The familiar strains of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” filled the air.

Jon considered her for a moment before holding his hand out to her, his gray gaze full of promise and longing and humor.

“Do you feel like dancing, My Lady?” – his voice sounding different than she’d ever heard it; it sounded flirty.

Sansa felt a flush creep up her neck, the longer he looked at her the more she felt her face heat.

She placed a hand in his and Jon pulled her into his embrace, his arm curling around her waist.

She put her free hand on his shoulder and grinned up at him, caught in his infectious, playful mood.

Sansa was in Jon’s arms and every inch of his body jolted at the contact. This close, he could see the barest kiss of freckles along her nose.

He started to move.

They covered the floor, from the glass doors to the stone railing and back again, whirling and turning in time to the music.

He knew he was rusty, rough in his movements, and wasn’t holding her right, but he was doing alright against expectations.

He skimmed his hand over her back to secure her more firmly, enjoying the feeling of having her in his arms. It made him smile.

He’d never danced with a woman like this, ever.

“You do dance!” – her throaty laughter tingled along his senses.

Pride fisted in his chest and he grinned.

Jon resettled her in his arms and used more of the floor space to dance her around.

He could smell her perfume, something spicy and warm; her long hair brushed against his arms.

Around and around the balcony they went.                                  

He released her waist long enough to spin her around and then caught her close again; her right hand in his left, his right hand slipping down to her waist.

A breathless little laugh escaped from her and it amped his confidence.

Jon spun Sansa around and caught her back against him, arms around her middle, grasping her hands, and now they danced with her back pressed against his chest. It was just a little bit of heaven.

His body automatically swayed to the motion of hers, as if they were dancing to the rhythm of the Earth spinning or the planets aligning.

He spun her around and this time she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Their faces were an inch apart.

Jon’s hands tightened on her hips as he stared at her, heat coiling in his stomach at the sleek wet lines of her neck and cheeks and brow; the rain droplets caught in her eyelashes like stars.

Sansa cupped the back of his head, fingers tangling in wet curls as she’d wanted to do since the first time she’d seen him. His hair curled around her fingers, silky.

Her heart was hammering.

Jon dipped his head, hesitated, waiting for her to back away. Instead, she lifted her lips ever so slightly towards him, and he did what he had wanted to do since he had first set eyes on her a month ago.

The contact of his mouth against Sansa’s stirred something in his soul.

He’d imagined this moment a million different ways and it was finally happening.

He kept the kiss light at first, experimental almost; a barely touching brushstroke and then another. He raised his mouth off hers a mere fraction but her lips clung to the surface of his. He pressed down again, slightly harder this time; his lips moving against hers in a gentle exploration.

But then it all changed.

Jon’s left hand caressed Sansa’s cheek and tilted her head to deepen their kiss. She felt his tongue seeking immediate entrance, forcing her mouth to open.

Their bodies seemed to almost sigh with relief at being joined.

The kiss erased everything except this moment between them. Nothing else mattered – not the rain or the freezing wind – only the kiss, their kiss.

Why? Why had they waited so long to do this?

Sansa heard Jon moan into her mouth and felt as if there was fire running through her veins.

Branded by an unexpected rush of heat, she backed him against the stone wall, losing herself in the kiss.

She explored his mouth, taste by taste, texture by texture, layer by layer. He tasted honest and clean.

His tongue teased and danced with her own, sending shivers of desire through her every nerve.

Her stomach flip-flopped and her knees wobbled as the wind raced around them, binding them together in an icy embrace.

She felt safe. Her heart beat against her ribs as she realized how very long it had been since she had felt so secure. Like she belonged.

Sansa leaned into him, trusting him to hold her upright as her world spun.

Jon’s heart pounded against his rib cage with such force he wondered if Sansa could hear it.

They were linked by hands and lips, but Jon felt a connection being forged deep inside him, a bond to Sansa that felt more real and right than anything he’d ever experienced before.

He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up and pressing her tight against him. She felt wonderful in his arms, like she belonged there.

He reached behind himself with one hand to steady them on the stone wall, but it was slick with water and he half-slipped.

Sansa broke away from kissing him, breathless and smiling.

Jon lowered her down, so Sansa’s feet could touch the floor again.

They were both shuddering.

Sansa stared at Jon. Water trickled down his face like tears, outlining the sharp edges of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw; his pupils were blown wide.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that” – he gasped; his left arm still wrapped tightly against her, pressing her body to his.

Sansa chuckled lightly.

Their foreheads rested close together.

“Why did you wait so long?” – she mumbled.

“Because you terrify the hell out of me” – Jon smiled, almost bashful.

Sansa tipped her head back to look at him.

“ _I_ terrify _you_?” – she arched an eyebrow – “You make my knees weak”

“I make your knees weak?” – Jon asked, amused.

“You make all women go weak at the knees” – Sansa stated.

Jon ran his hand through her hair slowly and gently, the look on his face one of reverence. He looked at her like she was the only thing that existed; like she was all that mattered.

“I do not” – he said, softly.

“You do!” – Sansa laughed – “You should have seen the way they looked at you in the ballro –“ – she tried to say but Jon interrupted her.

He cradled her head in his hand, and kissed her. A real kiss. Long and deep. The kind that sent goosebumps racing down her arms and legs; a burst of warmth amongst the cold of the winds and rain.

Sansa moaned involuntarily into his mouth.

Her knees weakened in true cliché form, and she grabbed on to his shoulders so she could stay upright.

His lips were soft and full. He felt warm, gentle, cozy. She wanted to melt into him.

She could feel the rapid beat of his heart. 

She felt safer than she had in a long time, in his arms. He was better than anything she’d ever touched.

Sansa reached for his waist with one hand and spread her fingers wide to be able to touch more of him. On her other hand, she felt his fingers slide between hers, entwining with them, like they’d held hands many times before.

She smiled against his lips.

Jon could taste the sweetness of the lemon cake still on her mouth.

His heart pounded in his chest. He had kissed his fair share of women before, but never had his heart been involved. This was a new and heady experience, for which he had waited his whole life.

Sansa was sweet and sexy and everything he could ever want.

The wet fabric of their clothing melded together, icy cold and sopping, but he didn’t care. He wanted to stay like this forever.

All too soon, the door banged open with a crash, startling them.

They broke apart quickly.

“What are you two doing out here?” – Arya asked, confused – “It’s raining like hell!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!  
> Share your thoughts with me!


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